


Black

by aslytherspuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Eventual Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Severus Snape/Regulus Black - Freeform, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23462098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslytherspuff/pseuds/aslytherspuff
Summary: Remus returned to Hogwarts in 1993 on Dumbledore's request to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts and protect Harry Potter from the imminent threat of someone he once thought he knew better than himself.  When he arrived, he came face to face with someone from his past he'd rather forget.  Of course, Dumbledore had conveniently forgotten to warn Remus that the resident Potions Master was his estranged brother-in-law.Based on the prompt: A Harry Potter AU where Regulus Black is the Death Eater turned spy/Potions Master.Follows the canon timeline of PoA from Remus' POV, and most events are canon-compliant or canon-adjacent (aside from flipping around Severus' and Regulus' storylines) until the scene where the truth is revealed. After that, it will be almost entirely AU.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 89
Kudos: 287





	1. The Hogwarts Express

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to all my fellow Puffs over on Hufflepuff Pride.

Remus arrived on Platform 9 ¾ early, over an hour before the students were due to arrive. The sight of the scarlet engine, unchanged in the fifteen years since he'd last seen it, caused a familiar ache to settle in his chest. He boarded the silent train and made his way without thinking to the carriage he had ridden in every year for seven years. He was halfway through the door before it hit him, and he almost turned around to find another carriage, one without the bittersweet memories, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Painful as it was, he longed to be close to them even in such a hollow, useless way.

He still visited Godric's Hollow every Halloween and in March for James' birthday. He celebrated Harry's birthday with a cake when he could afford one, and with a conjured candle when he couldn't. He remembered James and Lily's wedding day by lighting a candle beside the only photo he still had of the three of them together – Lily in her wedding dress, her head thrown back in a laugh, James grinning unashamedly, and Remus watching them, a smile on his face. He tried not to watch the part of the photo where his own gaze turned to the man behind the camera, a love-sick look in his eyes.

He lifted his worn, leather case up onto the rack, the same place his old school trunk had sat, and tried not to let his eyes linger on the initials carved in the wood above it. _It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live_ , Dumbledore's voice seemed to chide him. The Headmaster was a sentimental old man at times, but he was rarely wrong. When he'd asked Remus to teach this year, he had declined. It had been reckless enough to allow him within the school as a child. Now, as an adult, and without three animagi to corral him, it was unconscionable. But Dumbledore had played on his weaknesses, on his undying loyalty and love for his childhood friends. Harry was, after all, practically his godson, Dumbledore had pointed out, and Lily and James would have wanted Remus to protect their son like he was his own. If anyone knew Sirius Black well enough to catch him, to prevent him from getting to Harry, the Headmaster had continued, who better than his husband? Remus had flinched at the word; no one had referred to Sirius that way in years. _Not since Lily and James' murders_ , he realised, not since the only other people who knew of the union had died.

He tore himself away from his maudlin thoughts, stalking out of the carriage and slamming the door with more force than necessary despite the deep ache in his bones. The most recent full moon had been a bad one. The current stress he was under took a toll on his wolf, especially as he fought to deny Moony's demands to return to his recently-freed mate. Fortunately, the new position at Hogwarts came with a safe place to spend the moons and a guaranteed supply of Wolfsbane from whoever happened to be the current Potions Master. Oddly, Dumbledore had never mentioned them by name. Most of the other staff had remained the same as he remembered; McGonagall had barely aged since he last saw her, just months before... Well, _before_. Professor 'call me Filius' Flitwick had been thrilled to have one of his favourite Charms students back under Hogwarts' roof. Professor Sprout had greeted him with the warmest hug he'd had in years, and tutted kindly when he'd teared up, just a little bit. Professor Kettleburn had sadly retired, but Remus knew Hagrid well, and he'd always liked the cheerful half-giant. The man had invited him down to the gamekeeper's hut for tea (over-sweetened) and rock cakes (inedible), and regaled him with hundreds of stories of Harry's time so far at Hogwarts. He'd even given him a couple of photos, taken by a younger student named Creevy, who Remus would be sure to give some extra House points this year to show his appreciation. Harry looked just like James, but with Lily's startling, green eyes; when Remus had last seen him as a baby, his eyes had still been blue.

Remus paced the train, cypress wand at the ready, looking for any sign of Sirius Black. He was simultaneously relieved and disappointed that the train was empty, with the exception of Linda, the trolley witch, and Bert, the driver. As the first students started to arrive on the platform, Remus returned to the carriage to settle in for the journey. Within five minutes, the pain and exhaustion of his recent transformation was dragging him towards sleep, and he gave in, pulling his threadbare coat over him and casting a warming charm before closing his eyes.

_(p.74, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

“Professor R. J. Lupin.”

Remus woke at the sound of his name but gave no outward sign, immediately on high alert.

“How d'you know that?” a boy's voice asked, sounding amazed.

“It's on his case,” a girl this time, exasperated. Hidden beneath his coat, Remus grinned. She sounded just like Lily had when she'd been forced to explain something painfully simple to Sirius or James.

He was surprised that students had chosen to share a carriage with an unknown adult, but didn't wish to interrupt their journey, so continued his charade of sleeping. If they talked quietly enough, he'd probably drift back to sleep anyway. He'd tuned out of their conversation entirely when the mention of a name jolted him back to the present.

“Sirius Black escaped to come after _you_?” the girl again, and Remus suddenly had a feeling he knew the identity of at least one of the teenagers in the carriage. “Oh, Harry...”

Remus froze. It took every last ounce of his willpower to remain 'sleeping'. Harry was right here, in this carriage. In the very train carriage that his mother and father had sat in together fifteen years ago after their last year at Hogwarts. He hadn't seen Harry in the flesh in over twelve years, and the desire to just open his eyes and see the boy nearly overwhelmed him. But he couldn't, because Harry didn't know who he was. He didn't remember his Uncle Remy, who read him bedtime stories and put bubbles in his bath and held him so he could “ride” Uncle Padfoot in his canine form. To Harry, he was nothing more than a stranger, a new Professor. The knife in his heart twisted painfully. _I'm not doing this for me_ , he reminded himself, sternly, _I'm doing this for Harry. For James and Lily._

Remus could hear an odd sort of buzzing in his ears, and he tiredly wondered whether the cause was physical or emotional. He shifted, still pretending to sleep, but the noise only got louder.

“What's that noise?” not-Harry asked, and Remus realised the sound was coming from above him. “It's coming from your trunk, Harry.” There was some movement, some jostling and shuffling, and Remus realised Harry's trunk had been placed where James had always put his trunk. The odd symmetry of it all was bittersweet, if somewhat unsettling.

“Is that a _Sneakoscope_?” the girl asked.

Remus tensed. If the girl was half as bright as Lily, his secret might be out before he taught a single lesson. Werewolves were Dark creatures, likely to set off any nearby Dark-detecting equipment like Sneakoscopes. That was why Remus didn't bother owning any, not that he could have afforded them.

“Stick it back in the trunk,” the voice Remus had identified as Harry said, “or it'll wake him up.” A few moments later, the sound disappeared and he heard Harry's trunk thud closed.

After that, their conversation turned to Hogsmeade – it was the first year they'd be allowed to go, Remus realised – and as much as Remus tried to listen, tried to learn as much as he could about his almost-godson, sleep eventually claimed him again.

He woke again as the train began to slow; the carriage was darker, now, and quiet. They must be nearly at Hogwarts.

“We can't be there, yet,” the girl said, and Remus' eyes opened just a crack, his wand sliding out of his sleeve into his hand. A potential ambush was one of the reasons Dumbledore has requested he take the Hogwarts Express to the school, instead of arriving by apparition or Floo like the rest of the staff.

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and the sound of distant thuds and bangs told him that luggage had fallen out of racks and students off of seats. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out, plunging the train into total darkness.

Remus froze in place, using his werewolf senses to listen and scent for Sirius. If he was ambushing the train under the cover of darkness, he would be in his canine form; Moony howled plaintively in the back of Remus' mind, searching frantically for his missing mate, but found no sign of him. Sirius Black was not on board this train, so who _had_ stopped it and why?

“There's something moving out there,” not-Harry said. “I think people are coming aboard...”

Dumbledore had not warned Remus of any plan for the train to be stopped or searched. In fact, the Ministry had requested it repeatedly, and the Headmaster had vehemently denied them. If the Ministry had decided to carry out their plan regardless, then –

“Quiet!” he hissed to the teenagers, and the carriage fell silent at once. Tiredly, he conjured a handful of bluebell flames and held his hand aloft, lighting the carriage. “Stay where you are.”

Before he could reach the door, it slid open of its own accord, and an icy, horrible Darkness swept through the carriage.

The Ministry had defied Dumbledore.

Before Remus could lift his wand, Harry crumpled to the ground at his feet. Panic surged through him, but he refused to let it consume him. He was here to protect Harry.

Remus dragged every happy memory he had to the surface and raised his wand. “ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

Padfoot, shimmery and silver and unchanged, bounded from the end of his wand, and the Dementors skittered backwards, fleeing from the playful pup nipping at the heels of their tattered, black robes. He watched the glowing apparition of his estranged husband's animagus until it disappeared from sight. When he turned back to the carriage, a bushy-haired girl was on the floor beside Harry, gently slapping his face, while gangly, ginger-haired boy and a small, ginger-haired girl, possibly Weasleys, watched on nervously. Beside them stood a boy who'd suffered almost as much as Harry in his young life: Neville Longbottom. Remus recognised him instantly, the spitting image of both his mother and his father, who had both been friends with Remus during his time at Hogwarts and, later, fought by his side as Order members. A whole generation of children, scarred by events set in motion before they were born.

The ginger-haired boy and the bushy-haired girl hauled Harry up onto his seat as soon as he woke, fussing and clucking over him like mother hens. Remus smiled to himself, pleased that Harry had found such good friends. Hagrid had told him their names, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall what they were. He reached into his robes and pulled out his last bar of Honeydukes' Finest. It was supposed to get him through the next few days until the effects of the full moon wore off, but Harry needed it more than he did. He'd gone plenty of moons without chocolate, but Dementors were nasty business, and Harry had been through such horrors in his short life...

“Here.” He held a few squares out to Harry, remembering for a moment doing the same to a grinning, chubby little toddler when his mum wasn't looking. “Eat it. It'll help.”

Harry reached out almost automatically to take the chocolate, but didn't eat it.

“What was that thing?” he asked, his face still ashen and his hands visibly trembling.

“A dementor,” he replied as he broke off more chocolate to hand to the other four teenagers in the carriage. “One of the dementors of Azkaban.” The students all stared at him blankly, and Remus was almost relieved that such young children had never had cause to meet one before. “Eat,” he repeated, when he noticed Harry was still holding his chocolate. “It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me.”

He rose from his seat, purposely leaving behind his trunk and coat as an excuse to return. He strode to the front of the train, surreptitiously checking each carriage as he passed to ensure all the students were where they should be and unharmed. The Head Boy and Girl met him halfway along the train, introducing themselves as Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater.

Remus smiled at the officious young man. “I believe I met your brother,” he began, and Percy cringed.

“What did the twins do now?” he demanded. “Detention before we even arrive is a new low, even for them.”

Remus frowned. “Just the one brother, I believe, in a carriage with Harry Potter. Your sister, too, possibly?”

The Head Boy deflated slightly. “Ronald and Ginevra,” he confirmed. “Not causing any trouble, I hope?”

Based on Hagrid's stories, Remus supposed it wasn't too far-fetched for Percy to assume mischief was involved, but he still bristled somewhat indignantly at the assumption that he would only have mentioned them because they had gotten themselves into trouble.

“No trouble at all,” he replied, struggling to keep the iciness out of his tone. “They were being very good friends indeed to Mr Potter. In fact, two points a piece to whichever house they are in.”

Percy looked somewhat taken aback, but then puffed up proudly as if he were personally responsible for their good conduct. “Gryffindor,” he stated. “All Weasleys are Gryffindors.”

“And the girl with them?”

“Hermione? Also Gryffindor.”

“Well then,” he said, coolly, “six points to Gryffindor.”

With that, he continued on his way to the front of the train without a backwards glance.

When the train pulled to a stop – at Hogsmeade Station, this time – Remus left Harry and his friends behind with a short “see you at the feast” and apparated up to the gates. Dumbledore was waiting for him, his face grim.

“I hear the Minister has ignored my requests,” he said, gravely.

Remus nodded, passing through the gates as Dumbledore lifted the wards. “Harry reacted particularly badly to them,” he said, sadly. “I fear their presence at Hogwarts this year may be detrimental to him.”

Dumbledore's sharp eyes met his. “Being captured by Sirius Black would also be detrimental, Remus. Remember that. I have set up wards; the dementors will not have permission to enter the grounds of Hogwarts at any time. I see no reason why Harry should be adversely affected, so long as he stays within the grounds.”

Remus nodded, suitably chastened. He hardly knew Harry, and had no right to try to play parent to him, no matter how protective he may feel of the boy Moony was now calling 'cub'.

As they walked along the winding lane up to the castle, Dumbledore's mood remained sombre. “Remus, I know I have asked you this before, but I must ask again. Harry's safety, and the safety of all Hogwarts' students, is of the utmost importance. If you know anything, anything at all about Sirius Black that might put them in jeopardy, I implore you to tell me.”

Remus stiffened. He owed Dumbledore everything – he would not even be a wizard had Dumbledore not taken a chance by inviting him to attend Hogwarts at a time when it was par for the course to simply “put down” any known werewolves. His options would have been to join a pack like Greyback's and live as a feral monster, or to renounce magic and attempt to blend into Muggle society. To remain in the wizarding world without Dumbledore's protection would have been a death sentence. Without Dumbledore, he would not have had James and Lily. Would not have had Peter. Would not have had Sirius. His hand twitched up towards his chest, but he kept it firmly in his pocket.

“Sorry, Headmaster,” he replied evenly. “I've told you everything I know.”

The rest of the walk was spent making uncomfortable small talk. Well, Remus was uncomfortable, though perhaps that was due to his guilty conscience. Dumbledore seemed perfectly at ease discussing his latest Muggle sweet obsession and his newest knitting patterns, happily regaling Remus with tales of the many socks and scarves he'd knitted himself over the summer holidays.

“Of course, regrettably, I will have to wait a few months before I can comfortably wear them. The weather is still awfully mild, even with the dementors around.”

Remus nodded non-committally as he ascended the steps up into the entrance hall beside the Headmaster.

“Dumbledore, I've been meaning to ask, I heard Slughorn retired some years ago, and you never did tell me who replaced him.”

“Oh, yes,” the older man murmured absently, “it must have slipped my mind.” As they crossed the stone floor towards the Great Hall, a figure emerged from a passageway to Remus' left. “Ah!” Dumbledore exclaimed, clapping his hands together suddenly, “here he is now!”

Remus turned to greet the man, hand extended, and froze.

The grey-eyed man glared at him, hate momentarily twisting his pale features, and made no move to take Remus' hand.

“Regulus, this is our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin! I trust you already know one another, but I'll leave you boys to get reacquainted.”

In a swirl of impressive, silver robes, Dumbledore disappeared into the Great Hall, leaving Remus alone with Regulus Black.

“Professor  _Lupin_ ,” the Potions Master drawled, his tone causing the hairs on Remus' neck to prickle uncomfortably. His smile was all teeth, and his eyes glittered with malice; in the back of Remus' mind, Moony raised his hackles. “Or do we have something in common, now?” the dark-haired man continued quietly. “Like, perhaps, a last name?”

Remus blanched. How in Godric's name had Regulus found out about his marriage? No one but the Potters, Peter, and Dumbledore had been in attendance, and the marriage had never been registered with the Ministry.

Regulus Black grinned perniciously. “Didn't think I'd ever find out about that, did you,  _Black_ ? Imagine poor Kreacher's surprise when a  _werewolf's_ name appeared on his proud family's tapestry, right next to the name of the family traitor. Oh, the shame poor Kreacher must have felt when he had to tell my mother's portrait that not only had Sirius shamed the family name by turning his back on us all, he'd gone and married a  _beast_ to boot!”

Remus' hands trembled as the wolf fought to free itself, to defend its mate from a man who looked so much like him, but had so much hate and darkness in his heart.

“Mind your tongue, Black,” Remus hissed, his eyes glowing an unnatural gold as Moony fought for control. “Or you might just find you loose it.”

Regulus leaned back against the stone wall, chuckling playfully. “Y'know,” he said, conversationally, “I thought you were a bit of a wet Squib back in school. Wouldn't say boo to a Niffler, always trailing after richer, purer boys. But I can see now why my brother liked you. You're quite entertaining once you're all riled up.”

Remus could feel his canines lengthening, and a growl ripped out of his throat. “Most wizards, Professor Black, would be afraid to provoke a werewolf.”

The black haired man grinned unashamedly. “Ah, but I'm not most wizards,  _Professor Black_ . I lived with Severus Snape for five years. He was far scarier when provoked than any werewolf... and, I must say, quite a bit more fun.” With an almost flirtatious wink, the Potions Master shoved away from the wall and brushed past Remus, disappearing into the Great Hall in a flourish of black robes.

“I'll save you the seat next to me, shall I?”

Remus was left stunned and speechless in the entrance hall, his wolf pacing anxiously in his mind. What in the Founders' names had just happened?

Regulus did not save Remus the seat next to him, thank Circe. Instead, he was sitting – quite uncomfortably – between Hagrid and Professor Sprout as they leaned over him to discuss Hagrid's particularly bountiful pumpkin harvest. McGonagall, Harry, and his two best friends were conspicuous in their absence throughout the Sorting, which was led by Flitwick this year. Both the stool and the Sorting Hat were larger than the diminutive professor, and all Remus could think about was what jokes Sirius and James would have made had they seen it.

Thankfully, Harry and his friends arrived led by McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey just as the Sorting ended, and Harry looked much less shaken than he had on the train. Dumbledore's welcoming speech was far shorter than those he had heard in his time at school, and the announcement of his placement was met with lukewarm applause. Given what Remus had heard about the last few teachers, he could hardly blame them for lacking enthusiasm. While he was neither sharing his body with You-Know-Who, nor a total fraud, Remus was not wholly convinced he would be a competent professor, either. After all, he had no Mastery in the subject, and being a Dark creature was hardly the kind of life experience most employers looked for in someone they planned to put in charge of defenceless children. But, Remus supposed, Dumbledore would never be anything like 'most employers'. He seemed to subscribe strongly to the notion of keeping your enemies close; he had hired Regulus to keep a close eye on him during the last war, and he had hired Quirrell because he had suspicions about his ties to You-Know-Who. Remus was under no illusions that Dumbledore had hired him, at least in part, to prevent him from assisting Sirius Black.

The food was, as it always had been at Hogwarts, absolutely delicious. Remus was always hungrier in the week before and after the full moon. Despite Harry's diminutive size, Remus noticed Harry almost matched him in quantity of food eaten. The werewolf turned sharply to McGonagall, who was asking Flitwick the names of her new Gryffindor charges.

“Prof- Minerva,” Remus corrected himself, “where does Harry live?”

McGonagall pursed her lips. “With his aunt and uncle,” she said, with a disapproving glance in Dumbledore's direction.

Remus' cutlery clattered loudly onto the floor. “With _Petunia_?” he hissed. “Harry lives with _Petunia_ and her whale of a husband?”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “No need to make a scene, Remus. I have it under good authority that he spent several weeks at the Burrow under the care of Molly Weasley this summer. I assure you, he was quite well taken care of.”

Remus picked up the new cutlery that had appeared beside his plate and returned to eating, though the delicious meal now tasted like ash in his mouth. He knew McGonagall well enough to read between the lines; Harry was not cared for by his aunt and uncle. But he also understood the other part of her message: Dumbledore would not be swayed on Harry's placement, and it would do more harm than good to mention it in his presence. The Headmaster's guilt trips about Remus needing to 'be there for Harry' and 'look out for Harry' and how Remus must think about 'what James and Lily would have wanted' had been manipulations, he'd always known that. He just hadn't realised until now quite how manipulated he had been.


	2. The Potions Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If some of you read Chapter One when it was first uploaded, please pop back over to Chapter One before reading Chapter Two. I have added meeting the Potions Master and the Welcoming Feast to that chapter.
> 
> Also, as with Wish Fulfillment, there will be scenes in this story taken directly from the original books, but told from a different perspective. These will be clearly marked with the book name and page number (though, obviously, the page number may vary in different editions).

Remus' second class of the year seemed to foreshadow the upcoming year with a kind of irony only he was privy to.

The third year Ravenclaws burst through the door, whispering and hissing to one another; the girls seemed especially distraught. The Hufflepuffs, it seemed, had not been present for whatever had occurred in first period.

“Everyone take a seat, please,” Remus said, and the class fell mostly silent as the students sat down and retrieved their textbooks from their bags. Only three Ravenclaw girls continued their whispered conversation, and he looked at them reprovingly, clearing his throat to catch their attention. “Would you like to share with the class, Miss...?”

The girl doing most of the talking straightened her spine. “Miss Patil,” she said, not looking the least bit ashamed of being caught. “We've just had Divination, sir, and Professor Trelawney predicted the death of a fellow student.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. Trelawney was little more than a fraud, even Dumbledore admitted it, so what could she have said to get them so riled up?

“What exactly did Professor Trelawney say, Miss Patil?”

“It's not so much what she said, sir,” the girl replied, more hesitantly this time. “She saw the Grim in his teacup.”

“And in whose cup did she see a Grim?”

“Harry Potter's.”

Remus hid his surprise well. “Ah. I imagine, then, that she was merely making an educated guess based on Mr Potter's track record with near-death experiences. If that's all, could you please open your book to page three and tell us what you know about boggarts.”

As Miss Patil imparted textbook-perfect information, Remus' mind reeled. Whether Harry was in immediate, mortal danger or not, it was almost certain that a large, black dog was somewhere in his near future. Perhaps Trelawney was correct more often than anyone realised.

His second class of third years – Gryffindor and Slytherin, who had decided that was a good idea? – wasn't until after lunch on Thursday. He'd hastily slurped down some coffee and eaten half a sandwich in the staff room, and was heading to his classroom to collect his students when he was stopped by the very person he'd been avoiding all week.

“Fancy seeing you here,” the Potions Master drawled, as if surprised to see him. “Just the person I was looking for.”

Remus kept walking. He was much harder to provoke when it wasn't so close to a full, and some amateur flirting was hardly going to get under his skin, no matter who it came from.

Regulus fell into step beside him, and Remus focussed on staring straight ahead. From this angle, the brothers were almost indistinguishable, and the knife in his heart twisted painfully. There was very little he wouldn't do to have Sirius here instead of his younger brother. That was how it should have been; Sirius had always been the 'good' brother, the rebellious one, the one who defied his family to side with the Light. Regulus had sorted Slytherin, made friends with the wrong people, taken the Dark Mark and sworn his soul to a psychopath. And yet, Regulus walked free, while Sirius had slaughtered fifteen people and been sentenced to life in Azkaban. Twelve years later, and Remus still couldn't understand how it had all gone so wrong.

Reaching up to rest his hand over the ring tucked against his chest, Remus steeled himself for another uncomfortable conversation. “What can I do for you, Professor Black?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Regulus smirking. “Oh, no, Professor Black, it is what _I_ can do for _you_. See, my godson seems intent on telling _your_ godson some things you might rather he didn't know.”

Remus refused to react to the man's use of his married name, nor to the obvious threat in his words. “Is that so?” he asked calmly. “And what things might those be?” He had a fair idea who Regulus' godson might be _and_ what kind of information he might be privy to that Harry was not, but it would be easier to play along with the Potion Master's games.

Regulus pretended to study his fingernails, appearing totally bored by the whole conversation despite being the one who initiated it. “Oh, you know... Just bits and pieces about my dear brother, his best friends, and a certain _Fidelius_ charm.” He shrugged. “Nothing vitally important, I'm sure.”

“And you want something in exchange for keeping that godson of yours quiet?” Remus guessed. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, and Regulus was as slippery as they came. Still, there was no sense in rising to his taunts. He'd rather Harry never knew the worst of the man named his godfather, of course, but if Harry did find out the truth about Sirius, they would just have to deal with it.

Regulus sneered. “You're not nearly as fun without your _inner beast_ , Professor Black.”

Remus shrugged, unaffected by the man's tone and blatant taunts about his lycanthropy; he'd heard plenty worse in his twenty-seven years as a Dark creature. “I suppose it depends on your definition of fun, Professor Black.”

The dark man finally appeared to realise he wouldn't succeed in riling up the werewolf today. “I'll keep my godson quiet, but you'll owe me a favour, Black. And I always collect on my debts.”

Remus turned sharply to face his brother-in-law. “Keep him quiet or do not. But I will not be indebted to you, Regulus. Have a good day.”

With that, he hurried down the corridors towards his classroom; he was already late.

~*~*~

The first full moon of the school year had passed almost without incident. Regulus had made him a textbook-perfect batch of Wolfsbane; he had locked himself in the shack after dinner on the Thursday and emerged on the Friday morning with only minor injuries. The only lessons he had on Fridays were his NEWT students, so he'd simply set them independent assignments to be turned in the following week. After a weekend of rest, he was back to teaching on the Monday and no one was any the wiser.

_(p.153. Prisoner of Azkaban)_

The second full moon was not going to be nearly as simple. It fell on the anniversary of James and Lily's death and, in the week preceding the full, Moony was distraught. The Wolfsbane would be no match for a werewolf grieving the loss of its mate and its pack, no matter how expertly brewed. Worse still, part of his pack was right here, in the school, and he had been denying Moony the right to spend time with him outside of the once-weekly lessons. Besides, the boy would be in Hogsmeade right now, with his friends –

Remus froze as Moony sniffed the air, yipping excitedly in the back of his mind.

“Harry.”

Black, messy hair and green eyes peered around his office door.

“What are you doing? Where are Ron and Hermione?”

“Hogsmeade.” He sounded disappointed, and Remus wondered why he hadn't gone with them. _Unless, perhaps, he did not feel up to a Hogsmeade trip on the anniversary of his parents' death_ , Remus realised. He had been so wrapped up in his own grief that he had forgotten about Harry's.

“Ah.” Moony was pacing and circling anxiously in his mind, desperate to have his cub closer. Remus, himself, was feeling rather guilty for forgetting that Harry might also be struggling at this time of year. And, really, what was the harm in spending a little bit of time with the boy who was practically his godson, even if he didn't know it?

“Why don't you come in?” he suggested, before realising that professors didn't typically invite random students into their offices without a good reason. “I've just taken a delivery of grindylow for our next lesson.” There, that was as good an excuse as any. Harry thrived in his DADA lessons, so wanting to discuss a new creature with him was perfectly reasonable.

“A what?” Harry asked, following Remus into his office. Remus smirked. Harry was so much like James sometimes: never worked especially hard at anything or read ahead, but was so naturally talented you'd never know. His friend Miss Granger, on the other hand, was just like Lily. She'd probably read every textbook twice before even getting on the Hogwarts Express.

He gestured towards the nasty, green creature in the tank. “Water demon. We shouldn't have much difficulty with him, not after the kappas.” Harry was studying the grindylow with a mixture of fascination and disgust as it pulled faces at him through the glass. His nose wrinkled on one side just like Lily's always had. Remus shook himself, forcing his mind back into the role of Professor. He was not and never again would be 'Uncle Remy' to this boy. Moony whimpered at the thought, and Remus silently agreed.

“The trick is to break his grip,” he said, his voice flat. “You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle.” Harry nodded absently.

“Cup of tea?” he asked. He'd never seen Harry drink anything other than pumpkin juice, but he wasn't a fan of the stuff himself, and it seemed irresponsible to offer Firewhisky to a thirteen year old. “I was just thinking of making one.” He hadn't been. He'd been thinking about eating a whole bar of chocolate and taking a nap, but that was not the kind of thing he could tell a student.

Harry looked a bit uncomfortable but agreed. Remus supposed most professors didn't invite students into their office and offer them a cup of tea, but he refused to feel guilty about it. It was, after all, perfectly above-board.

“Sit down,” he said, motioning to a chair. “I've only got teabags, I'm afraid – but I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves?” It was a weak joke, but Harry's head shot up, a disbelieving smile playing around his lips.

“How do you know about that?”

“Us professors do hear things, Harry,” he said, tapping his nose. “You're not worried, are you?” Certainly, the rest of his year mates had seemed concerned enough by the prediction of his death, so it would not be so strange for Harry to feel some apprehension over the whole thing, even if Trelawney was mad as a box of frogs.

Harry hesitated just a fraction of a second too long before answering, but he didn't seem _worried_ as such...

“Anything bothering you, Harry?”

“No.”

This time, his answer was a fraction too quick. Harry was many things, but a good liar was not one of them. Like his mother, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Remus could only hope that it wouldn't get him hurt one day the way Lily had been. None of the Marauders had ever held Snape in high regard, but Lily had; she hadn't deserved the way he'd treated her, tossing her aside for people he believed could give him the power he sought. It had all been for nothing in the end; they'd both been killed by Voldemort.

Harry turned away from the grindylow tank, jaw tense and a look of pure determination on his face. “Yes.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. He'd known Harry was lying, but he hadn't expected him to trust a man he only knew of as his DADA Professor with the truth.

“You know the day we fought the boggart?”

Well, that certainly wasn't what he had been expecting him to say.

“Yes,” he replied, slowly, trying to work out where on earth Harry's mind was. Remus had been prepared for conversations about omens of death, Voldemort, Sirius, or James and Lily, but not for a question about boggarts, of all things.

“Why didn't you let me fight it?” he demanded, his green eyes sparking with indignation. If he spoke to all of his professors this way, it was no wonder Regulus despised him; the man was incapable of being challenged, especially by a student.

“I would have thought that was obvious, Harry.”

Harry looked taken aback, though Remus couldn't be sure if it was by the answer itself, or by the fact that Remus had answered at all. “I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort.”

Harry was staring openly now, mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief. Clearly, he was not accustomed to adults being quite so forthright with him which, knowing the adults who currently controlled the boy's life, was hardly surprising at all.

“Clearly,” Remus continued, when it was obvious that Harry was not going to say anything, “I didn't think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to appear in the staffroom.”

“I didn't think of Voldemort,” Harry said, suddenly, and it was Remus' turn to be stunned into silence. Harry's parents had been murdered by the monster, and Harry himself had faced the Dark wizard no less than twice since. Wizards that had never even _met_ Voldemort were terrified of him, even now, and Harry hadn't even _considered_ him?

“I – I remembered those dementors.”

“I see,” he said, quietly. Harry truly was the son of James and Lily; brave to a terrifying degree, and incredibly intelligent. “Well, I'm impressed,” he said, smiling, and Harry looked surprised. “That suggests that what you fear most of all is fear. Very wise, Harry.”

Harry appeared shocked by Remus' praise. “I thought you didn't think I was good enough,” he admitted uncomfortably, staring into the half-empty tea cup he was holding. “Professor Lupin, you know the dementors – ”

Whatever Harry had been about to say was cut off by a sharp knock on the door. Remus had become a fairly popular professor, but with the majority of the school in Hogsmeade, he hadn't been expecting any students to visit him this weekend.

“Come in.”

Regulus appeared in the doorway, holding a goblet full of Wolfsbane. His eyes narrowed immediately at the sight of Harry lounging in one of Remus' threadbare chairs.

“Ah, Regulus,” he said, smiling blandly at the dark man, “thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?”

Regulus stalked into the office, near slamming the steaming goblet onto the desk. Remus continued to smile serenely at the man who regularly went out of his way to make his life difficult. “I was just showing Harry my grindylow.” Regulus was incredibly adept to pushing Moony's buttons, so it was interesting to know that something as innocent as spending a little bit of time with his godson could get under Regulus' skin so completely.

The Potions Master's lip curled. “Fascinating,” he spat. “You should drink that directly.”

Remus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes, I will. Thank you, Regulus.” Harry's wide-eyed gaze was bouncing between the two men as if watching some kind of awful tennis match. Thank Godric the man at least had the sense not to utter his usual name for Remus in front of him.

“Not at all,” Regulus hissed, though he didn't sound as if he meant it. With a last, disapproving glare at Harry, he left, slamming the office door behind him. Remus was sure he'd find himself with an appointment in the Headmaster's office before the day was out, but he didn't care. If no one else was going to be there for Harry, even in the smallest of ways, on the anniversary of his parents' death, then Remus would be.

Harry was staring suspiciously at the goblet, and he cringed internally. “Professor Black has kindly concocted a potion for me. I have never been much of a potion-brewer, and this one is particularly complex.” If Regulus' claims of Harry's incompetence in the Potion's classroom were anywhere near accurate, then there was no chance of Harry guessing what this particular potion might be. “Pity sugar makes it useless,” he muttered, half to himself, then cursed his own idiocy. There were maybe a handful of potions rendered entirely ineffective by the addition of sugar, and while Harry might not know that, Remus was certain Miss Granger probably did. If Harry repeated this conversation to her, he doubted it would take long for the witch to identify the potion and, by extension, his secret.

Harry stared incredulously as he drank half the potion in one, long swallow, grimacing violently at the taste.

“Professor Black's very interested in the Dark Arts!” Harry almost shouted, looking as if he wanted very much to snatch the goblet from Remus' hands.

He almost laughed. _Interested in the Dark Arts? A former Death Eater? If only Harry realised just how strongly he was understating things._ Instead, Remus simply raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he murmured, blandly, hoping to discourage Harry from this particular line of conversation.

“Some people reckon he'd do anything to get the Defence Against the Dark Arts job,” he ploughed on, oblivious to Remus' discomfort.

If only Harry knew just how close to the truth he was skirting... Remus forced down the rest of the Wolfsbane. “Well,” he said, realising with a pang of disappointment that it was probably time to send Harry on his way, “I'd better get back to work. I'll see you at the feast later.”

Moony howled as Harry left the room, nothing but his scent lingering behind.

Remus fished in his desk for a bar of Honeydukes and headed up to his chambers for a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing response Chapter One has already received! I hope this second chapter has lived up to your expectations.


	3. The Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is all-or-nothing with me and, apparently, I am on a roll today. Here is your second chapter of the day. Enjoy!  
> I am, however, an "essential employee" so I am still at work four days a week which will slow me down considerably come Monday.

“Remus, my boy, take a seat,” the Headmaster said, sweeping his hands towards the odd assortment of chairs surrounding the fireplace. “How are you?”

Remus narrowed his eyes at the aged wizard, not falling for his doting grandfather charade for a second. He knew full well that he had not been called up to Dumbledore's office on the evening of a full moon for a chat about his health. Regulus had gone running to the Headmaster the minute he'd seen Harry in Remus' office earlier today, and now Dumbledore had, as Remus predicted, called him up for another discussion about 'maintaining a safe distance from the boy'.

“I'm fine, sir. Was there a reason you needed to see me? I'm due to take another dose of the Wolfsbane and head to the Shack in a few minutes.”

The older man's lips thinned beneath his white beard. “I've asked Regulus to deliver your potion here directly, Remus, and I've let Hagrid know you'll be Flooing into his home. The walk will be shorter from there.”

Of course, he had thought of everything. “Thank you, Headmaster. Why was it you needed to see me?”

Dumbledore smiled serenely as he poured out two cups of tea, handing Remus a sugarless, black brew that smelled faintly of cinnamon. He promptly placed it on the table and ignored it.

“How are you and young Mister Potter getting along?”

Straight to the subject at hand, then. “He's an incredibly talented student, sir. He has no real passion for writing essays, but he clearly understands the subject and is a natural in the practical lessons.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. And outside of lessons?”

Remus' expression remained impassive. “He seems to conduct himself with relative decorum, for a teenage boy, and has thus far kept himself out of trouble. Minerva tells me he spends most of his time on the Quidditch pitch, so I look forward to the first Gryffindor Quidditch match.” Whatever it was that Dumbledore was fishing for, Remus wasn't going to give it to him. He had not treated Harry as any more or any less than a normal student, and he certainly hadn't done or said anything that might put the boy in danger.

The Headmaster took a long sip of his tea, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Minerva mentioned that Harry did not go to Hogsmeade today. He did not have a signed permission slip.”

So _that_ was why Harry had been left alone in the castle? “I'll sign it.”

His employer's lips flattened disapprovingly. “I think not, Remus. That would be entirely inappropriate.”

Anger flared in his gut, and Moony growled and paced inside the cage the earlier dose of Wolfsbane had created for him. “How so, Headmaster? You've seen the Will as well as I. I have more right as his guardian than the Muggles you have him living with.”

Remus had never seen Dumbledore's expression quite so cold. “Blood wards, Remus, are no small matter. I have protected Harry since before he was born. Do not think to question my authority on this.”

Despite the fury sweeping through him at the old man's blatant disregard for Harry's happiness and well-being, he lowered his head and pretended to be chastened. “Sorry, Headmaster,” he muttered, the words burning like acid on his tongue.

“Though,” he said, all traces of anger abruptly gone, “it may benefit young Mister Potter to have a wizarding role model in his life. I see no harm in you spending some time with Harry, every now and then. This morning seemed to do him some good; the boy appeared much happier come lunch time.”

Remus couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. _Harry had been happier after seeing him this morning?_ Moony had certainly settled some, allowing him to nap for several hours, uninterrupted by the nightmares that often plagued his sleep.

“Of course, Headmaster,” he replied, evenly, once he had his expression back under control. “Perhaps on Hogsmeade weekends? That would keep Harry out of trouble while he is alone in the castle.”

Dumbledore sipped at his tea before nodding. “That sounds acceptable. Just mind that you don't overstep your bounds.”

His jaw twitched, but he smiled serenely. “Of course not.”

Thankfully, the door swung open and Regulus entered, more of the disgusting potion steaming in his hands. “Headmaster,” he greeted. “Professor Lupin.”

Remus started. Regulus had _never_ called him that. His eyes slid to Dumbledore, and he suddenly realised that the Headmaster had no idea that his Potions Master was aware of Remus' marriage. _What else was Regulus hiding from Dumbledore?_

“Thank you, Regulus,” he said, taking the goblet and steadily drinking down the potion. Once it was gone, he stood. The sun had set nearly an hour previous, and Moony was starting to become restless. “Professor Black, Headmaster Dumbledore,” he nodded to the two men, “have a good evening.”

Head still spinning with the revelation that he was not the only one hiding things from the Headmaster, he threw a handful of powder into the fire and shouted, “Gamekeeper's Hut!”

Remus awoke the next morning in agony. Blood dripped from deep gashes all over his body, several bones were broken, and a familiar, warm scent lingered in his nostrils.

He slowly, painfully rolled onto his side, his unbroken arm reaching out for –

His eyes flew open, and for a moment, the nausea overwhelmed him. The room around him blurred and spun, but when it finally settled, he was alone in the Shack. Pale, cold sunlight seeped through the gaps in the boarded-up windows, and the building groaned and swayed in a way that had become familiar to Remus after all these years.

Careful not to disturb his broken ribs too much, he took a deep, slow sniff of the air. The scent was a few hours old, but it was unmistakeable. _Sirius_.

In the back of his mind, Moony was distraught, howling and whining and clawing at the weak restraints left by traces of Wolfsbane. His mate had been close, so close. _Find him!_ Moony roared. _Go to him! Find him!_

But even if he had wanted to, Remus was in no fit state to go anywhere. Laying as still as possible on the filthy wooden floorboards, he mentally catalogued his injuries ready to tell Madame Pomfrey when she came to fetch him.

It could have been minutes or hours before the door eventually creaked open and the severe-looking mediwitch strode in.

“Oh, dear, Remus. A bad one, was it?” Her no-nonsense manner failed to completely cover the pity in her voice. Clearly, he looked as bad as he felt.

He tried to nod, but pain shot through his head.

“Okay, hold still a moment.” A few flicks of her wand, and Remus felt himself being levitated onto a stretcher. “Right, you know the drill, broken bones first.”

Remus took the deepest breath his cracked ribs allowed and steeled himself. “Jaw,” he croaked out, knowing the mediwitch would fix that first. A horrible grinding and five seconds of searing agony later, his jaw was sore but back in one piece.

“What's next?”

“Cracked skull, broken collarbone, my left arm and wrist, probably my left hand, too. Five ribs, I think, but there could be more. And I can't feel my left leg, so I think something's broken there.”

He closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and tried not to scream as Madame Pomfrey worked through each broken bone in turn, mending one before moving on to the next. She tutted when she reached his ribs. “Really, Remus,” she chided, “seven ribs? What on earth were you doing?”

He grimaced. He would have to tell the Headmaster as soon as he reached the school, so he might as well be honest with the mediwitch. “I think Sirius was here. The wolf was trying to get to him.”

No need to mention that the wolf was trying to get to its mate, not trying to get revenge on a murdering lunatic.

Madame Pomfrey showed no hint of surprise at the mention of Sirius' name, and Remus' eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What's happened?”

The stern woman's lips narrowed. “Mister Black broke into the school last night.”

Cold dread swept through Remus' body. “Did he – ?”

“Mister Potter is perfectly safe, Remus. Now, relax before you do yourself any more injuries. Let me finish these breaks and we'll move onto healing those cuts.” Remus whimpered pitifully as she snapped the bones in his thigh back into place, but the mediwitch carried on talking. “I have to say, I've not seen you in quite such a state since your fourth year. I thought Regulus was brewing you Wolfsbane?”

“He was,” Remus ground out. “But it's a bad time of year.”

He usually avoided any discussion of what had happened twelve years ago, but Madame Pomfrey had been caring for him since he was eleven; she had healed every break, every scrape, every bruise for his seven years at Hogwarts, and she had never treated him any differently because of his condition. In fact, she had almost become a mother figure to him. He hadn't seen her since the end of the first war, and now that he was back at Hogwarts, he had realised how much he had missed the forbidding witch.

Her eyes softened for just a moment before she went back to healing a particularly nasty wound on his left hip. “Yes,” she agreed quietly, “it is indeed. Too many celebrate victory without taking the time to remember the great cost at which it came.”

“Sometimes I wonder if the cost was too great,” Remus admitted. “But this year, looking at a whole school full of students who don't remember what it's like to live in constant fear... It was worth it, and I know James and Lily would agree.”

Madame Pomfrey's lips twitched into a small smile. “Yes, I think they would.”

Despite Madame Pomfrey patching him up, the transformation had taken it's toll on his body. He was too weak to walk unaided, to weak to bathe or do the necessary without the mediwitch's assistance, too weak to even feed himself. Pain racked his body, sending muscles into spasm and leaving his nerves so raw that the blanket on his skin was torture. It had been several years since the recovery from a full had been quite this gruelling.

It was Wednesday before he was finally able to eat small pieces of toast without a house-elf lifting every mouthful to his lips. On Thursday, he used the bathroom without assistance, and was able to sit up in the tub to wash himself. On Friday, he stood for the first time. On Saturday, he tried to prove that he could walk so that he could attend Harry's first Quidditch match of the year, but after falling three times, Madame Pomfrey ordered him back into bed. Instead, he stared out of the windows of his private room, watching the torrential rain and listening to the wind howl around the ancient castle as the rest of the school watched the match. Sometimes, if the wind caught it just right, he could hear cheers or snatches of commentary, but nothing that could tell him how the match was going. Nothing that could tell him if Harry flew like his father, or if Hagrid's vivid descriptions of Harry's many Quidditch victories did him justice.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the main room of the hospital wing. The heavy oak door to his room muffled most of the sound, but he could hear both Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey.

“...Albus! …happened …a bed!”

“Dementors – inside the grounds …flying …broom.”

“...always …Quidditch …could have died!”

The volume dropped to a muffled hum, and Remus had no hope of making out any words, but when he heard the heavy thud of the hospital wing doors, he used his wand to open his own door just a crack.

From his bed, he could see the blanket-covered feet of a figure lying prone on a hospital bed, red and gold Quidditch robes in a heap beside it. He tried to list every member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, just to reassure himself that it could be any one of them, but he knew who it was. Trickling through the crack in his doorway was the soft, sweet scent of his cub. Despite it being nearly a week since the full, Moony had not settled. All week, he'd been snarling and pacing, demanding that the weak human find his mate. Now, he was howling. Weak human had not protected his cub. Cub was injured – Moony could smell fresh blood amongst the stench of healing potions, and he was furious. Remus wanted to fight back against the wolf, but he had heard Albus. Dementors had somehow passed through the wards he'd set up; Remus had no doubt that they were the cause of Harry's injuries. If he'd fainted while flying the way he had on the train... Moony roared with anger, and Remus agreed. Someone had failed in their duty, and Harry had paid the price.

Knowing that seeing anyone near Harry – even if it was Madame Pomfrey – would further anger the fiercely overprotective wolf, Remus reluctantly reached for his wand and spelled the door shut, adding silencing and scent wards for good measure. Then he reached for the bottle of Dreamless Sleep on his night stand and swallowed the contents whole. Settling back against his pillow, he let the heavy pull of the potion drown out the howls of the wolf.

Madame Pomfrey had released him from the hospital wing on Sunday and, despite her stern advice to 'take it easy', he had been determined to be back in his classroom on Monday. He had his third year Gryffindors after lunch, and he needed to see Harry for himself to reassure the wolf that his cub was safe.

Getting out of bed and getting dressed had been harder than he'd thought, even after two vials of extra-strength pain potion and some discreet assistance from a house-elf, but he made it down to his classroom five minutes before Harry's class was due to arrive.

_(p.185, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

“If Black's teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving off,” Remus heard a voice say from the hall, and he smirked when he recognised it as Ron Weasley. What would have happened if it _had_ been Regulus, and he had been the one to overhear that comment?

A moment later, a head of bushy, brown hair appeared around the door. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and he couldn't help but smile at her. “It's okay!” she announced, as Ron and Harry dutifully followed her into the room, grins spread widely across their faces. Moony purred approvingly at the thought that the cub had missed him, though Remus wasn't sure that it was missing him so much as hating his temporary replacement. It was a sentiment Remus could completely understand.

He was pleased to note that, unlike himself, Harry looked no worse for wear after his trip to the hospital wing. He plopped himself down at his desk and pulled out his textbook with no indication of pain or discomfort at all.

Once the whole class was seated, he turned to begin the lesson and was met with a cacophony of angry voices the likes of which he had never heard from any of his students.

“It's not fair! He was only filling in, why should he give us homework?”

“Two rolls of parchment!”

“We don't know anything about werewolves!”

Remus froze. What the hell had Regulus been playing at?

“Did you tell Professor Black that we hadn't covered them, yet?” he asked, calmly, though calm was the _last_ thing he was feeling. There were several incredibly intelligent and capable students in this class who would have had no trouble connecting the dots had they been given the proper information. Miss Granger was one. Regrettably, Mister Malfoy was another.

“Yes!” Hermione replied indignantly, “but he said we were really behind!” She looked distraught at the prospect of being behind in a subject, and Remus had to work hard not to let a smile slip.

“He wouldn't listen!” Miss Patil shouted from beside Miss Brown.

“ – _two rolls of parchment!_ ” Ron Weasley repeated.

Remus chuckled. “Don't worry, I will speak to Professor Black. You do not have to do the essay.” It had only been assigned on Thursday, and there had been a Quidditch match on Saturday, so there was a good chance none of them had done it yet. If that was the case, maybe no damage had been done. Certainly, none of the students were staring at him in fear or disgust, and there had been no mention of parents complaining or students being pulled out of school.

The entire class, including Mister Malfoy, looked relieved by this announcement – with one notable exception. The other student Remus had been most worried about.

“Oh _no_!” Miss Granger cried, looking – if possible – even more distraught by this announcement than she had been at the thought of being behind. “I've already finished it!”

Remus silently vowed to mark Miss Granger's essay for extra points; if nothing else, it would tell him what she knew. Miss Granger was incapable of putting anything less than every single morsel of information she could find into an assignment; whatever she had discovered, he could be sure that it would be regurgitated onto her over-long essay. Remus needed to know exactly what she knew. It would tell him just how close he was to being discovered. Knowledge, after all, was power.

It took Remus exactly seven minutes after he dismissed his class to track down Regulus Black.

He stormed into the office and slammed the door shut behind him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Remus growled, purposely letting a little bit of the wolf show in his eyes as he leaned across the Potion Master's scarred, wooden desk. After the events of the full, Moony was still right on the surface, pacing, waiting to be let out, and Regulus was a perfect target.

Regulus didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked playfully at the werewolf, leaning back nonchalantly in his chair. “Awh, don't be mad, Black. I just wanted to get to know my brother-in-law.”

Remus could feel his hackles rise. “You taught children everything they needed to know to identify me! You taught _children_ how to _kill_ _werewolves_.”

The dark-haired man stood from his chair, leaned towards the werewolf, and bared his teeth. “Well, if you're the one helping my dear brother into the castle, we might need them to.”

Moony's control slipped, and he slammed the man backwards into the wall. He heard his skull crack against the limestone, but the Potions Master didn't so much as flinch. “I would _never_ put Harry at risk! You nearly exposed me to an entire year group, Black! What would you have done if one of them had worked it out?” He knew his eyes were a dangerous gold, and his lips had curled back to reveal his rapidly sharpening teeth. Most wizards would have at least raised their wands, but Regulus remained as unmoved as his brother always had been by Moony's outbursts. He waited, expression apathetic, until the wolf gave up.

He stepped to the side as soon as Remus' grip loosened, lips curled into a sneer. “If they had, _Black_ , it wouldn't have been my concern. After all, perhaps they deserve to know the truth about the type of,” he paused, looking at Remus doubtfully, “ _man_ they have teaching them. Have a good day, Professor.” He turned sharply on his heel and stalked towards his chambers without so much as a backwards glance.

Moony roared in anger and slammed his fist into the wall, undeterred by the horrible crunching of bones in the human's hand. Magical wards prevented him from chasing after the source of the human's anger, but there were other ways to vent his fury. Slamming his other fist down, the wooden desk cracked in two. Perhaps the man who looked like mate but did not smell like mate would leave human alone now. Satisfied, Moony returned to his cage in the back of Remus' mind. Remus used his wand to repair the desk, then, cradling his left hand, headed to the hospital wing.


	4. The Christmas Present

_(p.186, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

On Thursday, Remus noticed that Harry was still being hassled by some of the Slytherins – Malfoy included – for what had happened at the Quidditch match. Harry was clearly still upset by falling off, the outcome of the match, or both; he hadn't been eating properly at mealtimes, and the bags under his eyes were darker by the day.

As Harry packed up his things and headed towards the back of the classroom, Remus made a decision. “Wait a moment, Harry,” he said, “I'd like a word.”

Harry waved his friends on and headed back towards the front of the classroom. He didn't look put out, as a student normally would if they were held back after class, and Remus pretended he wasn't pleased by that.

“I heard about the match,” he said, as he began to place books in his briefcase, “and I'm sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?”

Remus knew very little about broomsticks; that had always been more James and Sirius' department. Sirius, of course, had been the one to buy Harry his very first broomstick. If things had been different – Remus stopped himself. There was no use torturing himself over could-have-beens.

“No,” Harry muttered, looking thoroughly despondent. “The tree smashed it to bits.”

Yet another thing Remus was responsible for, then.

“They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts,” he said, purposefully leaving out that they had planted it _because_ he arrived at Hogwarts. “People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy named Davey Gudgeon – ”, who had been a _really_ thick, hulking Slytherin, the likes of which put Misters Crabbe and Goyle to shame, Remus thought. He knew that insight would amuse Harry, but it would have been incredibly unprofessional to say. “ – Well, a student nearly lost an eye. No broomstick would have a chance.”

Harry nodded miserably. “I know. Ron and I drove a flying car into it last year and it smashed it to bits.” Remus stared at the boy incredulously, but Harry was still watching the hinkypunk, who was making horrible, squelching noises against the glass.

“You did _what_?” Remus didn't know whether to be impressed or disappointed. James and Sirius, certainly, would have been impressed. Lily, on the other hand, would have been incredibly disappointed.

Harry looked up, pink colouring his cheeks. “Ah, sorry, uhm...” He looked very uncomfortable to have accidentally disclosed such a discretion to a teacher, as if it might somehow get him into trouble even a year after the fact.

Remus smiled. “You're not in trouble, Harry. I daresay whatever occurred, you and Ron had a very good reason?” He doubted that there was logically a good enough reason to justify two underage wizards flying a car into a deadly magical tree, but he knew how teenage boys' brains worked. Godric knew, he'd been one himself for long enough. Whatever had happened, Ron and Harry had surely _felt_ like they had a valid excuse for their behaviour.

Sure enough, Harry nodded. “The barrier to the platform was closed because Dobby didn't want me to come to Hogwarts last year.”

Remus blinked at him. Harry and Ron had flown _all the way from London?_ He vowed to get the full story from Minerva later but, for now, all he asked was, “Dobby?”

“A house-elf, sir. The Malfoy's house-elf, actually. Only, he isn't any more. He works at Hogwarts now.”

“Right,” Remus said, weakly. The more he got to know the boy, the more he realised that regular run-ins with Voldemort were only a small part of the absolute mayhem that seemed to surround him. Flying all the way from London, indeed.

Harry shuffled his feet slightly, then seemed to gather his courage. “Did you hear about the dementors, too?” he asked, bringing the subject back to last weekend's Quidditch match. Remus had wondered if that topic might come up.

“Yes, I did. They have been growing restless for some time, furious at Dumbledore's refusal to let them inside the grounds... I suppose they were the reason you fell?”

“Yes,” he said, quietly. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before the next words burst out of him in an unstoppable torrent. “ _Why?_ Why do they affect me like that? Am I just – ?”

Remus cut him off, knowing exactly what Harry was about to say. “The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that others don't have.” Knowing that made him wonder how badly Azkaban had damaged the man he once loved. Harry passed out within moments of coming into contact with one dementor. How could Sirius have maintained any shred of his humanity – if he had any left to begin with – after twelve years surrounded by them? Harry had horrors in his past, but so did Sirius. Even after being married to the man, Remus did not know everything Sirius had suffered within the walls of Grimmauld Place. What he did know had been enough to fuel his nightmares for years.

“Dementors are among the foulest creatures to walk this earth,” he spat, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Get too near a dementor, and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to turn you into something like itself – something soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life.” He turned to fix his gaze back onto Harry, shoving the thoughts of Sirius aside. “The worst that has happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“When they get near me – ” Harry stared at Remus' desk, swallowing heavily, “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.”

Unbidden, his hand flew up to pull the boy closer to him, to offer him some measure of comfort, but Dumbledore's warnings reverberated in his mind and he stopped himself.

Then, the last thing Remus expected to hear: “Azkaban must be terrible.” Harry sounded almost... regretful? Sympathetic?

“Most prisoners go mad within weeks,” Remus responded tightly, as he closed up his briefcase. Why, whenever he spoke to this boy, did he always seem to steer them into dangerous waters?

Harry looked at him questioningly. “But Sirius Black escaped?”

The briefcase slipped from his grip, almost clattering to the floor before he snatched it back and placed it on the desk.

“Yes,” he replied, stiffly. “Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it possible...”

Harry frowned. “But _you_ made that dementor on the train back off,” he challenged. He didn't sound like he was accusing Remus of helping Sirius; he was just digging for information, for ways to overcome what he perceived to be his weakness. He wanted a way to fight, Remus realised. If there was one thing Harry couldn't stand, it was being impotent.

“There are,” he said, carefully, “certain defences you can use. But there was only one dementor on the train. The more there are, the harder it becomes to resist them.”

As predicted, Harry jumped at the chance, no matter how slim. “What defences? Can you teach me?”

Well, Dumbledore had told Remus that any time he spent with Harry should remain professional. What could be more professional than giving a bright student one-on-one tuition? Harry was certainly capable enough to master the charm; the challenge would be overcoming his natural reaction to the dementors long enough to cast it.

“I'll try and help,” he agreed, “but it will have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill.”

He watched Harry's face fall; he felt terrible for lying to him, but until Moony settled, it wouldn't be safe for him to be around the boy for extended periods of time. Already, alone and surrounded by his cub's scent, the wolf was rattling the weakened bars of his cage, demanding Remus do something to claim the cub. While advanced Defence lessons were certainly within the Headmaster's definition of 'professional', hugging or nuzzling the boy to scent mark him certainly wasn't. Perhaps after Christmas, and a few more moons under the influence of the Wolfsbane, Remus would have enough control to begin the lessons.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, a small, genuine smile making it's way onto his face. “You're the best Defence teacher we've ever had!”

With that, the boy disappeared out of the classroom, leaving Remus grinning stupidly at the door he'd closed behind him.

~*~*~

December's full moon wasn't nearly so punishing as the last two had been, though he was disappointed it fell on Christmas Eve. He'd only spent one Christmas with Harry, and would have liked to have made it two, even if it was just from across the table in the Great Hall.

Instead, he was in the infirmary until mid-afternoon, having healing potions poured down his throat, then hustled into his own bed to rest by Madame Pomfrey herself. He had been planning his usual remedy of chocolate and a nap – feeling too weak to do much else – but a knock came on his chamber doors just as he was getting comfortable.

“Come in,” he called, flicking his wand feebly to lower the wards. Only the staff knew where his chambers were, and those who were staying for Christmas – besides Trelawney – were always welcome for a visit.

McGonagall's stern face appeared in his doorway, though her expression faltered when she took in his exhausted form tucked under layers of blankets. “Remus,” she said, softly. “It's been a long time since I've seen you so close to a full.”

He grimaced. “Hardly a sight for sore eyes, I know.”

His old Head of House smiled sadly. “I'm sorry to disturb you, Remus, but this isn't a social call.” She reached into her robes and retrieved a miniature broomstick which she resized with a flourish of her wand, her expression grim.

Remus looked at it curiously; it looked brand new and very, very expensive. “I've not seen you on a broom in years, Minerva, and I can assure you, I'm in no fit state to ride one myself.”

McGonagall almost cracked a smile, “I daresay not, Remus. This broom was delivered to Harry this morning.”

Remus' mouth flew open in surprise. “Well, Gryffindor won't have any trouble winning matches with a broom like that. It looks top-of-the-range.”

She nodded, but she didn't look as pleased as Remus expected her to at the prospect of an unstoppable Gryffindor victory. “A Firebolt. Not yet on the open market and costs more than most of us earn in a year.”

Remus had known that James and Lily had left Harry plenty of money, but he was sure Harry wouldn't have access to most of it, not yet. He certainly shouldn't have over ten thousand galleons to spend on a fancy broom. Besides, Harry loved Quidditch, but he didn't strike Remus as the type to make rash, expensive purchases for himself. Most weekends, he wore hand-me-down clothes, and his glasses appeared to be held together more by magic than metal.

McGonagall fixed him with a hard stare. “Can you think of anyone with that kind of money who would wish to spend it on purchasing a broom for Mister Potter?”

_ Yes. _ He had to bite his tongue to stop the word from coming out. The only person with that kind of money, that kind of grandiose attitude to purchasing gifts, was his husband. The man who had bought Harry his very first broom on the only Christmas they ever spent together.

“I know what you're asking, Minerva,” he said, eventually, his voice heavy with fatigue. “Yes, it is a very  _ Sirius _ gift to send, but I can see no reason for him to have done so. Harry has no memory of him, nor of the first broom Sirius bought him. And Sirius is a wanted man; why risk capture and waste such an enormous sum on purchasing a broom for someone we believe he wants – ” Remus choked, unable to finish the sentence, but McGonagall nodded.

“It does seem unusual, but even you can't deny that it seems like something Mister Black would do.”

“Would have done,” Remus corrected, sharply. “Purchasing a wildly expensive broom for his godson is something Sirius  _ would have done _ . If he can betray us all and murder Peter in cold blood, he is not that man any more. I'm sure Harry has plenty of admirers, perhaps it was just a fan with too many galleons in Gringotts.”

McGonagall pursed her lips disapprovingly at Remus' tone, but seemed to remember that he was her peer, not her student. “Perhaps,” she allowed, “but I will have Filius and Rolanda strip it down and check it for any  _ alterations _ .”

Remus nodded. “I would expect no less, Minerva. You always did look out for your students.”  _ Especially the lost, little boys _ . In his own time at Hogwarts, McGonagall had cared for him and Sirius almost like her own children; she was never lenient, never showed any favouritism, but she had taken them under her wing nonetheless. It eased some of the weight on his shoulders to know that she was doing the same for Harry.

The stern witch pulled a wrapped parcel from within her robes and handed it to him, “I shall leave you to rest, then, before Poppy comes to tell us off. Merry Christmas, Remus.”

“I – Minerva – No, you can't. I didn't get you anything.”

Her lips thinned. “I do not give just to receive, Remus. Besides, it cost me nothing but time.” Before he could respond, she was gone, shutting his bedroom door behind her.

His shaking hands fumbled and tore at the thick, tartan paper uselessly until he gave up and reached for his wand, slicing the paper neatly in half.

There, in his hands, lay a beautifully framed photo of a much younger, happier Remus holding a much younger, happier Harry in Lily and James' sitting room.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” he whispered, as hot tears dripped unchecked onto the glass.

~*~*~

_ (p.236, Prisoner of Azkaban) _

The first Thursday after classes resumed, Remus invited an excited but apprehensive Harry to join him in the History of Magic classroom for his first Patronus lesson.

“What's that?” Harry asked curiously as Remus heaved a large case onto Professor Binns' desk.

“Another boggart,” he said. He'd meant to spend the Christmas break looking for one to use, but the full moon had knocked him harder than he'd anticipated and he'd never gotten the chance. He'd almost decided to postpone his lesson with Harry when Regulus, of all people, had cornered him after dinner yesterday. He'd overheard Harry discussing it with his friends – or so he claimed – and wanted to know what his lesson plan was.

“No lesson,” Remus had replied curtly, knowing that the man was only asking so that he could report back to Dumbledore. “I've been unable to locate a boggart.”

This morning, a case complete with boggart inside had been left in his classroom, along with a note penned in flawless calligraphy _. _

_ There's more where this came from. Grimmauld is full of them. - RAPB. _

It had left him feeling an odd sort of warmth towards the man.

“So,” Remus said, taking out his wand and waiting for Harry to do the same, “the spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic. Many students leave Hogwarts never having mastered it. It's called the Patronus Charm.”

Harry's expression slipped further towards apprehension, and he was gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles were white. “How does it work?”

“A Patronus is a kind of positive force, a guardian between you and the dementor,” Remus explained, “but the charm might be too advanced for you. It's okay if it is, we can keep trying as long as you like, or you can call it a day at any time.”

“How do I do it?” Harry asked, a look of grim determination on his face.

“It's a simple incantation, but it will only work if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.”

Harry's eyebrows pulled together, and Remus' heart clenched for the tiny, thirteen-year-old boy who had to work so hard to think of a happy memory. Remus' own happy memory of choice – tainted though it now was – hadn't changed in nearly fifteen years. It wasn't like he had anything more recent to replace it with; just endless days turning into weeks turning into months of poverty and regret and agonising transformations spent alone.

“Right,” Harry said, suddenly, and Remus abandoned his maudlin thoughts to continue the lesson.

“The incantation is  _ expecto patronum _ .”

Harry's nose scrunched just like his mother's as he repeated the incantation, focussing fiercely on whatever memory he had chosen. Remus' eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline when a wisp of silvery smoke curled out of the teenager's wand.

“Did you see that?” Harry shouted, eyes bright with excitement. “Something happened!”

Remus beamed at him. “Very good! Well done, Harry.”

But then they moved on to the boggart, and though there was no way a mere boggart should have had the same power as a real dementor, Harry collapsed to the ground, mouth open in a silent scream.

This happened over and over, and each time Harry staggered to his feet he was paler and weaker and more determined than ever. All Remus could do was watch in awe at the sheer bravery of the boy in front of him, the boy who was so much like both of his parents, yet proof positive that the whole was more than the sum of its parts. When Harry finally conjured a shadowy, oddly-shaped shield, Remus called it a day.

“Professor Lupin,” Harry said, as they sat side by side nibbling on a bar of Honeydukes, “if you knew my dad, then you must've known Sirius Black as well?”

Remus spun to face Harry, heart pounding. “What gives you that idea?” he asked, sharply. If Draco Malfoy had told Harry anything about Sirius, his current feelings of good-will towards Regulus would evaporate as quickly as they had come.

Harry blanched. “Nothing,” he lied, “I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts, too.”

Harry knew far more than he was willing to admit to, and that could only be bad news for Remus, and for whoever had told him, once Remus got his hands on them. “Yes, I knew him,” he said. There was no use lying to the boy. “Or I thought I did.”

Yet again, a conversation with Harry veering wildly off into forbidden territory. Just like his father, he seemed to wander obliviously into danger, taking all those around him along for the ride.

“You'd better be off, Harry. It's getting late.”

~*~*~

Remus cornered Regulus the next day after breakfast; they both had no classes until after lunch, so it was a perfect chance for them to have a little chat about the things that had been on Remus' mind the past few months.

“Professor Black, would you be so kind as to accompany me to my office? There are some matters I feel we need to discuss.”

Regulus smirked. “Of course, Professor. Lead the way.” At least he was intelligent enough not to use his usual appellation in front of the students and several gossip-happy portraits.

Once the office door shut behind him, Remus locked and warded the room. “I've got questions, Black, and I'd like answers.”

Regulus' only response was the cocky raise of one eyebrow.

“Did your godson let slip  _ anything _ about Sirius to Harry?”

The Potions Master appeared genuinely surprised. “No, absolutely not. His father and I have impressed upon him the gravity of the situation, and he will  _ not _ be goading Potter about the topic any further.”

Remus was somewhat taken aback by the man's honesty. He had been nothing but combative towards him from the very start of the year, and yet now, here he was, polite and honest in the face of Remus' accusations.

“Why the sudden change in attitude?” he asked, suspiciously.

Regulus sighed, leaning back casually in his chair and crossing his ankles in front of him. “You're not helping Sirius.”

“No,” Remus agreed, wearily, “I'm not.”

Regulus shrugged. “I assumed you were. I was wrong.”

He couldn't stop his mouth from falling open in shock. “I – uh, I... Thanks.”

“I assume you have other questions?”

“Yes, uh,” Remus cleared his throat, trying to collect his scrambled thoughts. Regulus had pre-judged him and been wrong; it appeared that Remus had done the same. “Why haven't you told Dumbledore that you know about my marriage?”

“It's not relevant.”

Not really an answer, but Remus supposed he didn't really need one. What Regulus did or didn't discuss with Dumbledore was none of his business. “Your initials on the note you wrote me. They were different. Where did the 'P' come from?”

Regulus quirked an eyebrow. “That's not relevant, either.”

He'd been wrong about many things, but not how infuriating Regulus was. That, he had definitely been right about.

“Why did you give me a boggart?”

“I have no use for it, myself.”

Regulus' initial forthrightness had devolved into sarcastic non-answers, and Remus was rapidly losing his temper. What was it about the Black brothers and their uncanny ability to push every single one of Remus' buttons?

“Did  _ you _ send Harry a broom for Christmas?”

Regulus' grey eyes snapped to his immediately. “What broom?”

“Someone sent Harry a Firebolt for Christmas. Minerva has it in her office, at present, to test it for any hidden surprises.” There was nothing in Regulus' expression that indicated he knew anything about the broom, which meant it almost certainly had to have been Sirius who purchased it. The only other families with that kind of money weren't the type to anonymously gift an expensive broom to the slayer of their Dark Lord.

Though if it  _ had _ been Sirius, maybe that meant that, somewhere, the man Remus had fallen in love with still existed.

The Potions Master rose to his feet, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I'll have a word with her. Perhaps it would be best if I tested it for any old, family tricks.” He unwarded the room and disappeared down the corridor before Remus had a chance to thank him.


	5. The Secrets Kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments!  
> I love you so much that I went to work and STILL wrote you a whole chapter today.  
> Pretty please thank me by reviewing!

“So,” Regulus drawled as he handed over the vile, steaming potion, “I never did get round to asking. How did you spend Christmas?”

The two had reached a tentative truce, but today Remus was in no mood for small talk with the man. “Here. Alone.”

The Potions Master raised an eyebrow, seeming somewhat taken aback by Remus' sharp tone. “No Christmas nightcap or New Year's parties? I am disappointed. The holiday season can't truly be celebrated alone.” The smirk on Regulus' lips suggested that he, certainly, had not spent the holidays alone.

“I'm a married man, Black,” Remus spat. Today, of all days, he could not forget that.

Regulus stared at him, his impassive mask once again firmly in place. “I know you are, _Black_. What I can't fathom is _why._ ”

Remus bristled.

“My dear brother was put in Azkaban for life, with a list of crimes that would put most Death Eaters to shame.” The dark-haired man leaned nonchalantly in the doorway, arms folded loosely across his chest. “Dissolving the marriage would have been a simple matter of approaching the wizard who bound you. Dumbledore, I assume?”

The werewolf nodded stiffly. He did not wish to be having this conversation. He was well aware of the process, Dumbledore himself had made sure of that several times, even going to far as to suggest that dissolving the marriage was 'only the right thing to do'. Moony had nearly killed the old wizard that day.

“It's not as if the man is terribly hard to find,” Regulus continued, inclining his head towards where, somewhere on the other side of the castle, Dumbledore was likely to be. “He would have done it, and no one would have been any the wiser for it.” Regulus' grey eyes locked onto his, and it felt as if they could see into his soul. Sirius' eyes used to do that, used to look into his and make him lay his horrible, twisted secrets bare for his lover to see. Sirius had seen it all, every last piece of evil and darkness inside him, and had loved him anyway. Now, it was Remus' turn to do the same.

Too late, Remus remembered that the man in front of him was an excellent Legilimens, and Regulus' face seemed to contort into what almost looked like pity.

“How can you still love him?” he hissed. “He is my own brother, and I cannot. Not after what he did.” His tone was harsh, almost disbelieving. “I did many things in my service to the Dark Lord, but I never betrayed my friends.”

“I would not have married had my love for him been conditional,” he bit out.

Overwhelmed and unable to continue the conversation, Remus pushed past the younger man and strode down the corridor with no specific destination in mind. He just needed to get _away_.

He found himself in the Astronomy tower. In mid-January, it was far too cold for any amorous students to venture up to, so he was blessedly alone. The pale, waxing gibbous moon glistened in the Black Lake and illuminated the snow-covered ground with an eerie glow. The silence was oppressive, abandoning him to his own, clamouring thoughts. Knowing no one could see him, he was unable to stop himself from reaching up to press his hand against the chain hidden beneath his robes. Today of all days, the ring seemed to burn against his skin, demanding to be remembered.

January twenty-first.

Fifteen years ago, in James and Lily's snow-covered garden, he had married the love of his life.

They'd had just eighteen months of happiness before the world had started to disintegrate around them, and by their third wedding anniversary, Remus had been alone once again. For the past twelve years, Remus had visited their old flat on the anniversary, still hidden under Fidelius and unchanged from the last day that he'd left it with a quick kiss and no idea that he might never see his husband again. He would drink himself into a stupor, then collapse on their bed, fooling himself into believing he could still catch a bit of Sirius' scent on his pillow. This year, even if he could've escaped Dumbledore's watchful eye, he couldn't have gone. Not when flat was yet another secret of Sirius' that Remus was still keeping. Not when Sirius might actually be there.

He didn't want to know this Sirius. The one who murdered muggles, who slaughtered their best friends, who spent twelve years in Azkaban and still maintained enough cold calculation to plan an escape attempt. That person was not Remus' Sirius, and meeting him would destroy Remus' years of quiet mourning; meeting him would force Remus to truly face up to what the man he loved had become. Meeting him would force him to realise that, despite Sirius loving _his_ darkness, he might be unable to love Sirus'. He wasn't strong enough for that.

~*~*~

Remus kept up Harry's Patronus lessons, even when one of them fell the day after a full. He was exhausted, and his newly-healed scars tugged and twinged with every movement, but there was nothing in this world that could come between him and his precious time with Harry.

He was sure that Harry noticed his stiff gait; every now and then the boy's eyes would flicker over to his professor, the edges tight with concern, but he said nothing. Instead, he seemed to compensate by working harder than ever, rapidly exhausting himself with just a handful of truly impressive attempts. Despite his earlier promises to let Harry set the pace in these lessons, he stepped in to call it a day.

_(p.246, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

“You're expecting too much of yourself,” he said, sternly, but Harry just glared back at him. “ _Any_ kind of Patronus is an incredible achievement for a wizard of your age.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and did not put his wand away, so Remus pressed harder. “You haven't passed out once today, Harry.”

The boy shrugged, mouth still set stubbornly and his holly wand clenched in his right hand. “I thought a Patronus was meant to – I thought it would charge them down, or something. Make them go away.”

“A true Patronus does that,” he allowed, with a smile. “But it can take years to learn, Harry, and what you are capable of – ” Remus paused, trying to put it into a context that Harry would understand. When he'd first asked for help, it had been because the dementors had knocked him off his broom. Perhaps realising that would not happen again would be enough to show Harry just how far he'd come. “If dementors put in an appearance at the next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground.”

Harry's posture loosened, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was quickly gone. “You said it's harder if there's loads of them.”

Remus smiled. “I have complete confidence in you. Here – ”

He moved over to the bag he'd brought along to today's lesson. He still felt guilty that Harry wasn't able to join his friends in Hogsmeade, so he'd made a trip into the village to buy his cub something all Hogwarts students seemed to love – Madame Rosmerta's Butterbeer. Remus had never liked it much, preferring to stick to hot chocolate when he could, but now he found the taste oddly nostalgic. It reminded him of all the times he and Sirius has snuck around the back of the Hog's Head after a few drinks in The Three Broomsticks, hiding from classmates and teachers alike for just a few minutes alone. On those afternoons, Sirius had always tasted like Butterbeer and freedom.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, and Remus realised he'd frozen mid-sentence, his hands halfway to his bag. “Sorry,” he muttered, cheeks burning as he dug out the two bottles. “Here,” he said again, handing a bottle to Harry. “Something you won't have – ”

But Harry's eyes had already lit up. “Butterbeer!” he exclaimed. “Yeah, I like that stuff! Thanks, Professor!”

Remus raised an eyebrow, suspicions setting in that maybe Harry was more like his father than even he'd realised.

Harry busied himself with opening the bottle the Muggle way, cheeks flushing an adorable – but blatantly guilty – pink. “Oh, uhm, Ron and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade.”

The boy really was a terrible liar. They'd have to work on that.

 _Don't overstep your bounds_ , warned a voice that sounded far too much like Dumbledore, and Remus realised that teaching Harry to be a better liar was something his Uncle Remy would have done. Not something Professor Lupin, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, would do. Instead, he just have the boy a slightly disbelieving smile. “I see.”

They sat side by side, drinking their Butterbeer in comfortable silence; Harry was clearly working up the courage to ask something, and Remus was trying desperately not to think of Sirius with every sip.

“What's under a dementor's hood?” Harry asked, turning to look at Remus curiously. He never did say what Remus expected him to. In the weeks since he'd admitted to being friends with James and Sirius at school, Harry had not once asked him about either of them. _Though perhaps, with the upbringing he's had, he doesn't know that he's allowed_ _to ask,_ Remus realised, his stomach rolling sickeningly. Beyond their names, did Harry know anything at all about his parents? Did he have pictures of them? Did he know that Lily's favourite subject had been Charms, and James had been top of the year at Transfiguration? Did he know that James wore the same underwear to every Quidditch match because he thought they were lucky? Did he even know when their birthdays were?

He didn't say any of this to Harry. Instead, he put down his Butterbeer as if to distance himself from the past and turned to give the teenager his full attention.

“Well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. A dementor only lowers its hood to use its last, most awful weapon.”

“What's that?”

“They call it a Dementor's Kiss,” he replied, grimacing. This was probably a bit too dark to be telling a thirteen-year-old boy, but he had asked, and Remus didn't want to be one of the adults in his life who lied to him, even if it was for his own protection. “I suppose they must have some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws over the mouth of the victim and –” Remus paused, compartmentalising the conversation so it felt more like reading from a textbook than discussing the terrifying possibility of his husband's future. “And they suck out his soul.”

Harry choked on a mouthful of Butterbeer, but didn't otherwise seem nearly as scarred by the information as Remus had been expecting.

“What – they kill...?”

“No,” he said, heavily, “it's much worse than that. You can live without your soul –” Godric knew he'd been doing just that for over twelve years, “– so long as your brain and organs are still working. But you'll have no sense of self, no memory, no... anything. You'll just... exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever.”

Remus took a deep swig of Butterbeer; if he closed his eyes, he could almost smell Sirius' leather jacket and cheap Muggle cigarettes. “It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black,” he said, hollowly. “It was in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning.”

Harry was silent for a long time, and Remus was grateful for it. Grateful for the time to tuck the raw, ugly pain back behind walls built up over years of anger and grief over Sirius' betrayal.

It turned out he'd needed that time more than he'd realised, because when Harry spoke next, those walls were shaken to their foundations.

“He deserves it.”

Moony, who had been sleeping peacefully in his cage, rose abruptly and let out a growl so menacing, Remus' head throbbed. His voice was tight when he eventually spoke, but he didn't think Harry noticed. “You think so?” he asked, wondering what on earth had led the usually benevolent, righteous boy to such a conclusion. “Do you really think anyone deserves that?”

“Yes,” Harry said, without hesitation. “For...” he cut himself off, and Remus knew then that Harry, somehow, had learned the truth of how his parents had died. “For some things,” he finished quietly, and Remus couldn't find it in him to disagree.

If someone had killed his parents, he would want them punished, too. No matter how gruesome that punishment might be.

~*~*~

On the morning of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match, Remus received a note delivered by a school owl.

_Care for a friendly wager?_

_Ravenclaw win, I'll answer any one question you ask._

_Gryffindor win, you answer any question I ask._

_I'll meet you in the stands._

_RAPB_

_P.S. The P stands for Prince._

Regulus had seen Harry's new broom at dinner last week; clearly, Gryffindor were a shoo-in to win this match, so a bet stacked in his favour hardly seemed fair. But Regulus had freely volunteered the information about the mystery initial, though it raised more questions than it answered.

Regulus was a traditional pureblood. It would make no sense for him to take someone else's surname alongside his own, even if he were married – Was he married? He'd never seen the man wear a ring, or heard him mention a paramour of any kind. _Apart from when he mentioned Christmas_ , Remus recalled. Regulus had indicated that he had spent Christmas with someone. But the Black family, disgraced and dispersed though they now were, was still one of the richest and most influential names in Wizarding Britain. For Regulus to have taken his wife's name alongside his own, the name should have to be of equal or greater power. Remus had never heard of the Princes, so it was safe to assume that wasn't the case.

Remus scrubbed his hands over his eyes. Regulus had given him an answer, but only to further pique his curiosity. The Slytherin was blatantly manipulating him.

He flipped the parchment over.

_Three questions. No passes._

_RJLB_

He joined Regulus in the stands a few hours later, the wind ripping through his threadbare robes despite the warming charms. This would be his first chance to see Harry play, and he was as excited as he once had been to see James and Sirius play.

“Remus,” Regulus greeted with a cocky grin. “I've got my questions ready. Would you like to answer them now or later?”

Remus lowered himself onto the bench, wincing as his knees creaked audibly. “I'm just surprised a Slytherin bet on Gryffindor, Regulus. Tut, tut. What _would_ your students say?”

The dark man chuckled. “That I'm a consummate Slytherin. Always bet on the winning team, even if it's not your own.” He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out what looked like another cloak.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to Remus. “It's not mine, so it should fit you.”

Remus took the rich, expensive-looking black robes from his brother in law, running his fingers over the intricate details and fine, silver clasps. It was a work of art more than it was a piece of clothing, the magic in it almost humming as he brushed against it with his fingertips. “Who's is it?”

Regulus smirked. “If you win, brother, you can ask.”

Remus looked around sharply but, thankfully, no one had been paying any attention to Regulus' irresponsible comment. He wrapped the cloak around his shoulders gratefully, and felt the heavy warmth of the interwoven charms settle around him. Almost instantly, his lingering pains and aches faded to almost nothing, and he felt as warm as if he were sitting by a fire drinking whisky.

“This – Regulus, this is incredible.”

The Potions Master smirked. “Potions aren't my only talent, wolf. I'm quite the spell-crafter.”

Remus' mouth fell open. “You made this?”

“Not the cloak, no. But the enchantments? Yes. They were made with the cloak's owner in mind, but I thought they might benefit you.”

“And the cloak's owner doesn't mind me borrowing it?” Remus found it hard to believe that anyone would willingly part with such a fine piece of magic, even temporarily. Certainly, if he had such a robe, he would be loathe to let it out of his sight.

“They have others like it, and you'll find I can be quite... _persuasive_.”

Remus shuddered, not wanting to think for one moment what kind of persuasion Regulus had used to convince the owner to part with his cloak.

“You and the cloak's owner... you are lovers, then?” he asked, casually.

The shorter man turned to him, a disappointed expression on his face. “Remus, really. You can't trick me into answering anything. If you win, you can ask. If you lose... I guess you'll never know.”

“Infuriating little shit,” Remus muttered, watching as the Ravenclaw team filed out onto the pitch.

Regulus looked at him incredulously for a second, then burst out into a laugh so warm and genuine that McGonagall eyed them both with concern.

 _Have you jinxed him?_ she mouthed, and Remus snorted.

“AND HERE IS THE TEAM FOR GRYFFINDOR!” Lee Jordan announced, and Regulus was all but forgotten as Remus watched Harry, the smallest player by over a head, walk out onto the pitch with his Firebolt clutched firmly in his hand.

“BELL, SPINNET, JOHNSON, WEASLEY, WEASLEY, POTTER, AND WOOD!”

The two captains shook hands, the players mounted their brooms, and they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo who knows what Remus doesn't about Regulus?


	6. The Friendly Wager

Lee Jordan's commentary was hilarious, and McGonagall's attempts to corral him even more so. As the match went on, Remus found himself wishing James and Sirius could hear it; they'd have been in tears.

“In possession of the Quaffle is Angelina Johnson. Fine girl, Angelina. Bit of a spitfire, though. I asked her on a date once, and she told me to fu—”

“JORDAN!” McGonagall screamed, her hat almost falling off as she lunged to snatch the microphone away from him.

“And that was an excellent hit from Weasley. Godric knows which one, eh? Though it is important to know which is which if you plan on jumping into bed – ”

“JORDAN!”

“And Davies blocks the Quaffle. Come on, Alicia, I know how good you are with that hand, if you know what I – ”

“ _JORDAN!_ ”

Remus and, to Remus' surprise, Regulus were in stitches, tears streaming down their faces as McGonagall's voice got higher and higher each time Lee Jordan said something off-colour. Her hat had completely dislodged itself after the fifth time she'd lunged towards Lee Jordan and was now hanging forlornly from her dishevelled bun. The Marauders had caused their fair share of mischief in their time but, try as they might, they'd never quite managed to get under McGonagall's skin. Clearly, she was losing her edge in her dotage.

Even when Sirius had approached her with a rose between his teeth and asked her to dance, she had merely raised an eyebrow and coolly informed him that, unfortunately, she felt their love affair was best kept a secret. “But as I cannot stand to be apart from you, Mister Black,” she had added, dryly, “I think it best you come to my classroom every Friday evening at eight for the next three weeks. A few hours' detention should suitably cool your ardour.”

James had laughed himself sick that day.

Harry, meanwhile, was darting around the pitch on his Firebolt, looking nothing at all like his father. James had been a brilliant player, there was no doubt about it, but he had been an incredibly theatrical flyer. Every move was showy and artfully choreographed, as much to draw attention as to play the game. Harry flew as if the broom were part of him; every move was instinctive and economical, but somehow all the more breathtaking for it. He looked like he _belonged_ in the air, and Remus' chest was bursting with pride for his cub.

Regulus leaned close. “If you ever repeat this, I will kill you. But your Potter is the best flyer I've ever seen.”

 _His_ Potter? Remus looked at the man quizzically. “Coming from a previous Slytherin Seeker and the godfather of the current one, that is high praise indeed.”

Regulus' lip curled. “Like I said, if you tell anyone, I will kill you. Werewolves can fetch high prices as potions ingredients.”

Remus chuckled as he watched Harry loop playfully around Cho Chang, high above the rest of the game. “Duly noted, Regulus. Should you do so, please give at least part of the proceeds to Harry. If it helps, I can amend my Will.”

He thought he heard Regulus respond, probably with something sarcastic or cutting, but Remus' heart was in his mouth as Harry hurtled towards the ground at full speed. Regulus' hand grabbed his when he went for his wand. “Harry's fine, Remus.” He was. He pulled up sharply, just feet from the ground, and whipped his broom around, shooting off towards the Ravenclaw end of the pitch. Remus, on the other hand, clutched his chest as he gasped for air.

“Does he do that _often_?” he demanded breathlessly.

“Quite,” his companion replied. “It's his signature move, and now he's got a better broom, he can dive faster and get even closer to the ground before he pulls up.”

“Perfect.”

_(p.262, Prisoner of Azakban)_

Suddenly, Miss Chang screamed, pointing back towards the grass pitch, and Remus watched in awe as Harry pulled out his wand without once faltering in his course towards the Snitch that Remus' enhanced sight could just make out glittering near the Ravenclaw goalposts. Something massive and silvery-white erupted from Harry's wand and charged towards the ground.

 _A stag._ Harry's Patronus was a stag.

Remus rose from his seat, shoving Regulus unceremoniously out of the way as he raced down the wooden stairs onto the pitch... Where Draco Malfoy and his cronies were tangled in a pile of oversized robes.

Madame Hooch's whistle blew, and Remus looked up to see Harry, face alight like he'd never seen it before, holding the fluttering Snitch in his hand. The whole Gryffindor team swooped in to hug and kiss and congratulate his cub, and Remus stood there on the grass pitch grinning like a loon. He didn't even care that he'd lost the bet to Regulus. He'd lose a hundred bets to see Harry smile like that.

As Harry landed on the pitch, Ron sprinted over to engulf his best friend in a hug, followed closely by Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Percy. For a short while, Harry was invisible below the crowd of red-and-gold decked well-wishers, but Remus found his way to the front eventually.

“That was quite some Patronus, Harry,” he murmured in his cub's ear, and Harry turned to him with a breathtaking grin on his face.

“The dementors didn't affect me at all!” he said, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. “I didn't feel a thing!”

Remus grinned back. “You were fantastic, Harry. But, er, they weren't dementors. Come and see...”

Standing over the crumpled forms of Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint was an incandescent Minerva McGonagall.

“An unworthy trick!” she was shouting, her still-dislodged hat bobbing against her shoulder as she shook her head. “A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin!” Wisely, none of the students attempted to interrupt McGonagall mid-rant. In fact, Malfoy even looked faintly intimidated by the furious Head of House.

Beside him, Ron and Harry were doubled over with laugher at the sight of their rivals still tangled in black robes being soundly told off in front of the entire school. Remus fought to keep his expression neutral; laughing at students would likely not be well-received, no matter how well-deserved.

“Come on, Harry!” one of the Weasley twins yelled, “party in the Gryffindor Common Room!” With one last smile, Harry was gone, swamped by a sea of red and gold as they headed off to celebrate their victory. Remus sincerely hoped he didn't celebrate it the way his godfather used to – with a bottle of Firewhisky and a victory romp behind closed bed-curtains. James had celebrated _his_ victories with a bottle of Firewhisky and a evening of begging Lily to date him, followed by a night of sulking in the dorm after being turned down _again._

Regulus waited until nearly eleven o'clock before he arrived at Remus' chambers, bottle of Firewhisky in hand and a smirk on his face.

“Time to pay up, brother.”

Remus rolled his eyes but let the man in, indicating for him to make himself comfortable as Remus fetched them both glasses.

“Since Gryffindor won,” Regulus said, pouring each of them three fingers of whisky, “I will be asking you three questions. _But_ ,” he continued, “since Gryffindor won _despite_ my godson's appallingly blatant cheating...”

Remus chuckled. Only Regulus would think the blatantness of the attempt was a worse offence than the cheating itself.

“... I will also answer one question for you.”

“You know,” Remus replied, “you could just ask me anything you wanted to know without all these rules and wagers.”

The dark man curled his lip in disgust. “You really are disgustingly Gryffindor, aren't you?”

He grinned cheekily. “Yes. And that was your first question. You have two left.”

Regulus' expression turned calculating. “Not as Gryffindor as I thought,” he said, sounding almost proud. “Though I should know better than to underestimate a Black, whether by blood or otherwise.”

They both took sips of the ridiculously expensive alcohol, enjoying the feeling of warmth sliding down into their stomachs.

“I'm sorry, I realised I took your cloak earlier. It's by the door.”

Regulus cocked an eyebrow. “Keep it.”

“Really? Why?” Why on earth would Regulus – or Regulus' lover – simply _gift_ him a cloak worth more than his monthly salary that was wrapped in charms that must have taken weeks, if not months, to craft and cast?

“I could count that as your question, you know,” he replied, taking another lazy sip of the whisky, “but I won't. I'm curious to know which question you'll ask.”

“Shall I go first, then? Before the suspense kills you?”

Regulus tilted his glass towards Remus. “By all means, ask away.”

Remus took a moment to weigh up his options. He needed to craft a question that would, somehow, give him as many answers as possible. If even one of his assumptions was wrong, the whole question would be forfeit. It was a hell of a risk to take, but while Regulus was now a _friend_ , Remus still didn't know if he was an enemy or an ally.

“What are all of your reasons for hiding your marriage from Dumbledore?”

Regulus' mouth fell open. Only a fraction of an inch, and only for a moment, but seeing the master of the 'Slytherin Mask' lose his composure for even that brief second was almost worth the risk he'd taken in asking the question.

Then, the Potion Master's lips curled into a smile. “Well, well, well. My big brother did have some taste after all. Well done, Black. You are correct; I am married, and I have not told Dumbledore. And you even remembered to specify that you wanted _all_ of my reasons, very clever.”

It was almost condescending, but in a playful, appreciative way that Remus found he didn't mind too much. “Congratulations on your nuptials, Mr Prince-Black,” he said, raising his Firewhisky to the man.

“Thank you, Remus. I'll be sure to pass on your well-wishes to my spouse.”

They lapsed into silence, and Remus assumed that Regulus was carefully crafting his answer to give away as little as possible.

“First and foremost, I have not disclosed my marital status to protect my spouse. They do not wish Dumbledore to know of them, nor of our involvement, for a variety of reasons. Secondly, knowledge is power. The more I keep to myself, the more power I have should I need it. Thirdly, it is none of his business how I conduct myself in private, outside of this castle.”

Not only did Dumbledore have no idea that Regulus was married, he didn't even know _of_ the person Regulus had married? Remus turned that over in his head. It would explain the surname; if the witch was from abroad, perhaps her family were influential there? The second two reasons, Remus had expected. They were typical, Slytherin reasons for keeping secrets. But the first? The first reason told Remus that Regulus may have defected to the Order, but he was not truly loyal to Dumbledore.

What had he said earlier? _Always bet on the winning team, even if it's not your own._

Just as Remus was trying to decide whether this new information made Regulus enemy or ally, the man cleared his throat.

“I believe I now have two questions?”

“You do,” Remus agreed easily. “But go ahead and ask the three you've got planned.”

Regulus scoffed and muttered under his breath about 'noble Gryffindors', but was clearly pleased that he would be able to ask all the questions Remus assumed he'd carefully planned.

“Do you think my brother is guilty?”

The answer tore Remus' apart from the inside, but he said it anyway. “Yes.”

“Do you think of Harry as your son?”

“I know he isn't,” Remus replied, warily. Regulus might not be in Dumbledore's pocket entirely, but that didn't mean he wasn't reporting back to him. After all, between Remus and Dumbledore, it was obvious which was the 'winning team'. “But I do wish I'd been able to raise him. He is family to me, even though he doesn't know it himself.”

Evasive as it was, it seemed to satisfy Regulus, who took a slow sip of his whisky.

The last question threw Remus off completely, and reminded him that whatever game Regulus was playing, it was not the same one that Remus was.

“Are you named on any Black family vaults or property?”

“N—” he started to reply, because of course he wasn't named on any part of the Black estate. Then Remus remembered Sirius' almost frantic insistence that he be added to an empty vault in Gringotts shortly after their marriage. “Possibly. I think so. Sirius added me to an empty vault of his.”

Regulus raised a single eyebrow in interest. “You don't happen to know the vault number, do you?”

Remus knew full well that all the paperwork for that vault was still at their flat in Camden. “No. I think it started with a nine, maybe? I never saw it or visited it, I just signed the paperwork and gave the goblins a drop of blood.”

“Blood?” Regulus echoed, sounding alarmed. “Are you sure?”

Remus frowned, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. “Very sure, why?” Werewolves weren't very popular at Gringotts because the Ministry often liked to interfere in their vaults, and Remus never had any money to put in a vault anyway, so he knew next to nothing about the goblins' processes. Sirius hadn't seemed surprised by the request, so Remus had gone along with it. Of course, that had been back when Remus had trusted him...

“Only the highest security Black vaults require blood. I didn't even know Sirius had access to any of them. He shouldn't have, not after he was disinherited.”

“Oh.” Remus hadn't been expecting that.

“I'll –”

Whatever Regulus was going to do, Remus never found out because a pompous-looking knight burst into the painting of a Welsh beach that Remus had hanging above his fireplace.

“Sir Remus!” he cried.

Remus looked up sharply, “yes?”

“I've been charged with the noble task of informing you that Sirius Black is in Gryffindor tower!”

Heart pouding, Remus sprinted out of his chambers with Regulus on his heels, wands at the ready, their glasses of Firewhisky left abandoned on the coffee table.

~*~*~

_(p.287, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

Remus was marking his fifth years' essays on shield charms when his fire flared green and Regulus' head appeared.

“Lupin!” he barked, “I want a word!”

He sounded surprisingly angry, given the good mood he'd been in when Remus had seen him just a few hours previous, so he set down his quill and stepped into the flames, emerging into Regulus' office.

“You called, Regulus?” he asked, calmly. The man was clearly furious, and Remus glanced around the room, looking for a possible reason... and landed on a tense, guilty-looking Harry.

Regulus stalked back over to his desk and brandished what appeared to be a blank piece of parchment. “I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying _this!_ ”

The first thing Remus noticed was Sirius' untidy scrawl alongside James' neat script, and his heart caught in his throat. His eyes trailed up to the top of the parchment, where his own handwriting could be seen: _Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Black, and begs him to keep his sticky, little fingers off of things which do not belong to him._

As he read James' incredibly un-witty insult – _Mr Prongs would like to add that Regulus Black is a smarmy git_ – and Sirius' startlingly precise response – _Mr Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that Regulus Black became a Professor_ – his hands started to shake. He could hear his old best friends saying those words, could almost picture them as teenagers laughing as they muttered the insults to Regulus when they passed him in the halls. But the final line struck him as odd. Written in Peter's tiny, cramped hand, it said: _Mr Wormtail bids Regulus Black a good day, and hopes his elf is well._

“Well?” Regulus hissed. “How do you explain this?”

Remus scrambled, trying to remember if Regulus had ever known Sirius' nickname. He didn't think so; they'd only really used them in private or inside Gryffindor tower. Harry having possession of the Map certainly explained how he'd managed to get his hands on Butterbeer, though, and why Remus never could find him in the castle on Hogsmeade weekends.

Eventually, he settled on asking Regulus a question in return. “Is your elf well?”

Regulus spun to face a terrified-looking Harry. “Potter! Out! Wait in the classroom, I'm not done with you!” Harry scrambled out of the office as quickly as he could, and Regulus warded the door behind him before turning to face Remus, his lip curled.

“Not especially, no. He was tortured into near insanity on a mission the Dark Lord ordered back in ninteen-eighty-one.”

Remus felt the blood drain out of his face. “And do many people know about this?”

Regulus' eyes flashed darkly. “Only Death Eaters and, of them, only a few. This parchment is clearly full of Dark Magic. Where do you imagine Potter got hold of such a thing?”

Remus kept his expression carefully blank, and used every rusty, weak Occlumency technique he had as he replied, “I wish I knew.” It wasn't a lie; he really did wish he knew where Harry had gotten what appeared to be their Map. But there was only one place he _could_ have gotten it, wasn't there?

“Oh?” Regulus said, more than a hint of a threat in his voice. “Don't you think he may have gotten it _directly from the manufacturers_?”

“I doubt it,” Remus replied, evenly, “though we can certainly ask Harry if he knows of any...” Remus tilted his head as if reading from the parchment, “Mr Padfoot.”

Regulus' eyes met his, and Remus _knew_ that Regulus knew.

“Oh, I don't think Mr Padfoot was the one to give him this. If he'd had it, he'd likely use it for his own purposes.” The Potions Master let that thought hang in the air between them before continuing. “Though if the magic in this Map is anywhere near as good as my brother always claimed, maybe there was more than one traitor in your midst.”

Remus snatched the parchment back from Regulus. “If I find out that you knew _anything_ that you kept from us all these years, no one will ever find your body.”

He broke Regulus' wards with a flick of his wand and stormed out of the office just as Ron ran into the classroom, face red and out of breath, “I – gave – Harry – that – stuff,” he panted. “Bought it all at Zonko's ages ago.”

The lie was mostly pointless, now, but Remus spun to face Regulus cheerfully, anyway. “Well,” he said, “that seems to clear that up! Harry, Ron, come with me. I need a word about my vampire essay. Excuse us, Professor Black.”

They reached the Entrance Hall before Harry tried to speak.

“Professor, I – ”

Remus spun to face him, his mind still spinning with the possibility that Sirius might not have been the only traitor... or a traitor at all.

“I don't want to hear explanations,” he said, sharply. “I happen to know that this Map was confiscated by Mr Filch many years ago.” He almost laughed at Harry's gobsmacked expression. “Yes, I know it's a map. I don't want to know how it fell into your possession –,” after all, if he knew that, he'd have to report it, “– but I am _astounded_ that you didn't hand it in. Particularly after what happened last time a student left information lying about. I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't let you have it back.”

Ron was staring, his eyes flickering between Harry and Remus with his mouth slightly open. Harry looked relieved though, Remus was pleased to note, a little bit ashamed of himself. Honestly, Harry was his father's son, and if he didn't get into a little bit of mischief and mayhem every now and then, he'd almost be disappointed. The boy deserved to have some fun. But Remus was the closest thing Harry had to a father, now, even if Harry never knew it, so he couldn't risk giving him the Map back. He didn't know what to think about what had occurred in Regulus' office, but Sirius _had_ escaped from Azkaban. Sirius _had_ been heard saying 'he's at Hogwarts' and 'I'm going to kill him' prior to his escape. He had broken into Gryffindor tower twice. And he had stood over poor Ron Weasley with a knife. If he got hold of the Map, Harry would likely not have such a lucky escape the third time he tried. Remus had lost everyone he'd ever loved; he was not prepared to lose Harry as well.

“Don't expect me to cover for you again, Harry. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive. Gambling all of that for an afternoon with your friends is a pretty poor way to repay them.”

Harry looked horrified; clearly, the thought that Sirius might snatch Harry from Hogsmeade had never occurred to him. Remus immediately regretted being so hard on him, but he couldn't take it back. Especially when, as a professor, he ought to have reported Harry straight to Dumbledore. Resisting the urge to hug the boy, Remus merely patted his shoulder and sent him on his way.

He took the Map back to his chambers where, for the first time in sixteen years, he tapped his wand to the aged parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not want to be written. That's why it took longer. I'm sorry. I hope you liked it anyway.


	7. The Quidditch Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: minor reference to homophobia and one use of a slur.  
> Also, Lee Jordan uses the word bastard.

On the last Monday before the Easter holidays, Remus asked Harry to stay back after class. They'd stopped their Patronus lessons after Harry's unqualified success at the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match, but Harry still joined him in his office every Thursday. Sometimes, he'd just do his homework. Sometimes, Remus would give Harry some advanced tuition, teaching him a few spells and hexes usually reserved for OWL students. Often, though, they would just have a chat. Harry never asked him anything about his parents, though Remus tried to slip in little stories every now and then about his mother's kindness and his father's penchant for mischief. Harry's eyes would light up at every morsel of information, but he never continued the conversation or asked any questions, and Remus – painfully aware that one toe over Dumbledore's carefully laid boundaries could cut off his access to Harry altogether – felt unable to push the subject any further.

Once the classroom had emptied of the rest of the third year students, Harry turned to him with a smile. “Yes, Professor Lupin?”

Remus smiled back, and wondered for the hundredth time if what he was about to do was overstepping his role as a teacher. “Harry, I'll be going to Godric's Hollow on Wednesday evening after classes. I was wondering if you might like to join me?”

He was definitely overstepping, but if Dumbledore had any objections, Remus was not adverse to having McGonagall or even Dumbledore himself accompany Harry. After all, Harry had every right to visit his parents' graves, with or without permission from his 'guardians'.

Harry's brow furrowed. “Godric's Hollow, Professor?”

Remus' heart plummeted into his stomach. Harry had never even _heard_ of Godric's Hollow? His knees felt abruptly weak as he lowered himself down onto his chair. He conjured a second one for Harry, and motioned towards it. “Take a seat, Harry.”

Harry's face was pale as he sat uncomfortably on the conjured chair. “Is something wrong, Professor?”

He looked up into Harry's worried face. “Can I ask you, Harry, just for this conversation, to call me Remus?” It was a weakness on his part. He couldn't sit there, in a classroom with his almost-godson, and tell him about his parents' deaths while Harry called him 'Professor'.

Harry clasped his shaking hands together and nodded. “Of course... _Remus_. Uh, have I done something wrong?”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

Harry stared hard at the floor. “You seem disappointed in me,” he said, in a small voice. “I'm sorry.”

Fuck Dumbledore and his fucking boundaries. Remus reached over and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. He wanted to run his fingers through his soft, black hair, like he had when Harry was a baby, but he knew that would be too far. He would settle for this.

Harry flinched slightly, and Remus' heart broke, remembering for a minute a very different black-haired boy who used to flinch at physical contact and cringe away from loud voices and drawn wands. Harry and Sirius had been raised in very different worlds, but by horribly similar adults. And Remus had been just as entirely incapable of saving either of them.

“Harry, I will _never_ be disappointed in you,” Remus said, firmly. “I am very disappointed, yes, but not in you. I am disappointed that the adults in your life – myself included, unforgivably – have not told you even close to enough about your parents.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “My aunt and uncle said they died in a car crash,” he said, his voice still soft and hesitant, “but Hagrid told me the truth. He told me Voldemort killed them.” Suddenly, Harry raised his head, eyes blazing with an unexpected anger. “I was under my dad's cloak in Hogsmeade, just before Christmas. I overheard McGonagall and the Minister for Magic talking about Sirius Black.”

 _Ah_ , so that was how Harry had found out the truth. Remus was furious that they would have been so careless as to discuss it within earshot of students, but the damage, clearly, had already been done.

“I know he was my dad's best friend. I know he's my _godfather_. And I know,” Harry continued, his voice rising sharply in volume, “that he _BETRAYED THEM!_ ”

Remus dropped his hand from Harry's shoulder. “Yes,” he agreed, weakly. “He did.” Remus didn't have the heart to admit to Harry that _two_ , not just one, of his father's best friends might have been traitors. Peter was dead, and there was no honour in talking ill of the dead, especially without proof.

Harry's eyes blazed into Remus'. “Did you know?” he challenged. “Did you know he was a traitor?”

A wave of guilt threatened to overwhelm him, but he swallowed hard and met Harry's hard stare. “I should have, Harry. If anyone should have known, it was me. But I didn't. Not until it was too late.”

Harry seemed to abruptly deflate, collapsing back into his chair and curling in on himself. “I'd still have a mum and dad if it wasn't for him,” he said, quietly. “I'd have a house like Ron's, with parents who loved me, and fed me. And a bedroom of my own, maybe, though I wouldn't mind if I had to share with a brother or sister. I'd have loads of those, I bet. And maybe my dad would have taught me to play Quidditch, and my mum would have read me bedtime stories...” Harry trailed off, tears sliding down his pale cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away.

Remus fought back tears of his own. “Yes, Harry,” he whispered, his heart breaking for the little boy in front of him and the life he should have had. “You'd have had all of that. All of that and more. Your parents loved you more I can ever hope to explain to you, and I'm so sorry that I got so much time with them, while you got so little.”

Harry shrugged, one hand coming up to scrub at his wet cheeks. “I bet my parents loved you, too. You seem like you were a good friend to them, Pro– _Remus_.”

Remus blinked hard, but hot tears escaped his eyes and trickled down his scarred face. “They were the best friends I've ever had.”

They sat in silence for a long time, locked in their own thoughts, breaking the peace only with the occasional sniffle or rustle of fabric as wet tears were wiped away.

After what felt like hours, Harry looked up at Remus, his eyes red but his cheeks dry. “I'm sorry, Pr– uhm, Remus. I didn't mean to do that. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Remus smiled sadly at the incredibly brave boy sitting across from him. “Godric's Hollow is where your parents are buried. I visit their graves a few times a year. Wednesday is your father's birthday. I was wondering if, perhaps, you would like to accompany me?”

Harry sat quietly for a few minutes, turning the offer over in his head. “No,” he said, eventually. “Thank you, Remus, for everything, but I – I just can't. Please can you...” Harry hesitated, taking a deep, shaking breath, “can you tell them I love them? And that I miss them? I promise I'll visit them some day, just... just not yet.”

Remus nodded. “Of course, Harry. Of course, I will.”

Harry stood up, grabbing his bag, and paused uncomfortably in front of Remus. “Thank you, Remus. For telling me.” He half-turned to go, then abruptly spun back and grabbed Remus in an awkward half-hug. Before Remus could hug him back, Harry pulled away, cheeks burning, and ran from the classroom.

Remus locked the door behind him just as a broken sob escaped, and he stayed there for a long time, grieving his losses and those of an innocent child.

If he turned his head, he could still smell Harry's soft scent on his robes.

As March bled into April, the tension in the school rose along with the temperature outside. Everywhere Remus turned, he had to deal with a student breaking down over their exams, or the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry reaching new peaks as the final match of the season approached. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's captain, had taken to having Harry accompanied by bodyguards everywhere he went, and Harry was frequently delivered to classes or mealtimes by a gaggle of older students. His paranoia was not unfounded.

In the past week alone, Remus had sent nineteen students to Madame Pomfrey and another twenty-two directly to their Heads of House. So far, Regulus had been sent fifteen students and Minerva only seven; it seemed that the Slytherins liked to stack the odds against them by attacking two or three to one when they could. He'd heard a fair few Gryffindors complaining about the 'filthy Slytherin cheats', but he was painfully reminded of all the times the odds had been stacked the other way during his school years. Two, three, or even four against one had been a weekly occurrence. At the time, they'd called it 'pranking'; looking back, and with the insight of being a teacher himself, Remus couldn't justify it to himself any more. Retaliation or not, the Marauders had bullied Severus Snape. Had the man still been alive, Remus might have sought him out to apologise, but as Snape had been yet another fatality of the war, he would have to live alone with this regret like all the others.

Pale moonlight illuminated the second floor corridor as Remus continued on his evening patrol. The last, panicked OWL and NEWT students had been chased out of the library by a harassed Madame Pince an hour ago, and it was now officially past curfew.

He'd considered using the Map to quickly locate the rule-breakers, but the night was mild and the moon barely half-full. An evening stroll around the castle would be far healthier than sitting in his office alone, staring at his dead best friend's handwriting. He did that enough on his evenings off.

His sharpened hearing picked up on the sounds shuffling and muted voices above, and Remus headed up the staircase to the third floor to investigate. As he drew closer, he heard a muttered “fucking Slytherin” followed by the sound of a body hitting a stone wall, and his pace quickened. He'd had enough of this, now, and was in half a mind to send whoever was involved in this midnight skirmish straight to Dumbledore. If they were Quidditch players, perhaps a nice one-match ban would apprise them of the seriousness of their behaviour.

A door further down the corridor rattled slightly, and Remus drew his wand, ready to dismantle any silly locking spells the students had attempted.

Then came a whisper of a name and a soft moan.

 _Oh_.

Remus stopped in his tracks.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like his younger self suggested he just leave them to it, but the teenagers – whoever they were – hadn't even put up a silencing spell. And even with dementors surrounding the castle, he couldn't risk that Sirius might break in again. They were only steps away from one of the many secret passages that the Marauders had found in their time at Hogwarts, putting the students straight in harms' way.

Moving closer, Remus raised his hand a knocked quietly on the wooden door.

The noises stopped immediately; the two teenagers weren't even breathing. Remus smiled, remembering finding himself in a similar situation a few times. Luckily, they'd only ever been caught by one of Remus' fellow Prefects and never by Professor.

“Could you both make yourselves decent and step outside, please?” he asked, trying to hide the amusement in his voice. He wouldn't be sending these students to their Heads of House; back to their dorms for a cold shower should do it.

More shuffling, a murmured 'sorry', and some scuffling later, and two, dishevelled seventh year students emerged.

Remus' mouth dropped open. The two students stared fixedly at their own feet, their discomfort becoming more and more evident as the seconds ticked by.

“Well, boys, I can't say I was expecting that,” he said, eventually. “Though I have to say, I'm pleased to see some of us putting our rivalries aside.”

Oliver Wood flushed a deep shade of red, but his companion, the burly Slytherin Quidditch Captain, glared at the floor so angrily that Remus worried he might accidentally set the ancient rug ablaze.

“I take it your friends don't know about this, yet?”

“No, sir,” Oliver replied, sounding incredibly uncomfortable.

“You might be pleasantly surprised.”

The Slytherin – Flint, Remus remembered – scoffed angrily. “Please. Spare us your Gryffindor sentimentalities, sir. Professor Black will likely remove my Captaincy when he hears about this, and if he doesn't, my housemates will demand it anyway.”

Remus' eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline. “What makes you think Professor Black would do that?”

Flint scoffed again, and when Wood reached for his hand, he snatched it away. “Purebloods don't much care for _fags_ , Professor.”

Remus' hands clenched into fists; a reflexive reaction to the slur he'd not had aimed at him in so many years. He'd already resolved _not_ to send these students to their Head of House, but in Flint's case, he would make an exception.

“I don't think you know Professor Black as well as you think you do, Flint,” he said, gently. His own friendship with the surly Potions Master had shown him that the man was not nearly so traditionalist or bigoted as some seemed to believe; perhaps a one-on-one discussion was what Flint needed to help him work through some of his issues. “I'll let him know to expect you in his office at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Now, please escort Mr Wood back to his Common Room, then find your way back to yours.”

Oliver Wood's mouth fell open slightly. “You're not reporting us? Giving us detention?” he asked, almost timidly.

Remus shook his head. “Not this time. But if I catch you again, I will, so please don't forget your silencing charms next time you sneak away for a late night rendezvous.”

Flint's stony expression had slipped slightly, his wide eyes matching Wood's, and Remus grinned at the boys. “Goodnight, boys. I'll be back patrolling in...” he glanced at his watch, “about half an hour, so make sure you both find yourselves back where you should be.”

With that, he continued down the corridor, taking a shortcut behind a portrait of Barnaby the Barmy that led down to the dungeons. Remus was fairly sure Regulus had left the castle for the night; he'd been in an awful hurry to finish dinner, and his cursory explanation of a delicate potion had been painfully transparent. Instead of knocking on the door to his quarters, Remus slipped into his office and left a note on his desk.

_Flint will be coming to speak to you at four o'clock tomorrow. We had an interesting conversation this evening about certain Pureblood views and I was hoping you could set him straight on the matter, in a manner of speaking. - RJLB_

The Gryffindor match against Slytherin was the dirtiest playing Remus had ever had the displeasure of witnessing. He was shaking with rage as he watched the Slytherin players shove, punch, fly into, and grab the brooms of the Gryffindor team.

Madame Hooch's whistle was sounding several times a minute, and the referee was nearly red with rage at the show of poor sportsmanship from the students.

McGonagall was screaming profanities from her seat beside Lee Jordan, who looked thrilled to be able to shout things like “you bastard!” and “dirty, cheating scum!” at the Slytherin players with the full support of his Head of House.

Regulus was silent beside him, but Remus knew that the entire team were going to have their arses handed to them the moment they stepped foot in the changing rooms, regardless of whether they won or lost. After all, _blatant_ cheating was the very worst type of cheating, and this match had it in spades.

By the time Gryffindor were up seventy-ten – mainly, it seemed, due to fouls awarded to them – the entire crowd of students were on their feet and screaming for one reason or another. Remus was having the fleeting thought that perhaps Flint and Wood were best keeping things under wraps until the fallout from this complete catastrophe of a game had passed when his attention was grabbed wholly by a streak of red and gold flying past the teachers' stand. Harry had seen the Snitch.

As a professor and not a Head of House, Remus wasn't supposed to take sides, but he was a Gryffindor and that was his cub. He was on his feet screaming and cheering with the rest of the Gryffindors as Harry shot through the air, aiming for something not even Remus could see. Malfoy was right on his tail, but his broom had no hope of catching up to a Firebolt.

Harry's hand reached out... and so did Malfoy's. He grabbed the tail of Harry's broom and hung on, a nasty smirk on his face.

“YOU CHEATING SCUM!” Remus and Lee Jordan exploded together; McGonagall said something even worse.

It was too late; Malfoy's tactic had worked and Harry had lost the Snitch.

Seventy-twenty.

Eighty-twenty.

Suddenly, Malfoy was shooting off across the pitch. Harry, who had been assisting Johnson with her goal, was miles away.

“COME ON, HARRY, YOU CAN DO IT!” Remus screamed, willing Harry's Firebolt faster as he streaked across the pitch, gaining on Malfoy far faster than Malfoy was gaining on the Snitch.

Harry pulled level with Malfoy just as the Slytherin reached for the Snitch.

Two hands reached out, their fingers brushing against the golden ball, but only one hand closed around it.

“ _YEEEESSSSS! GRYFFINDOR WINS!_ ”

Harry was immediately surrounded by his team mates as the stands erupted into cheers. If James and Lily were up there, somewhere, looking down on their son, Remus hoped they could see this.


	8. The Marauder's Map

Once the Quidditch final had passed, studying seemed to begin in earnest for all of the students, even Harry.

“Professor,” Harry asked, from his place on the sofa Remus had moved to his office, “were you any good at Potions in school?”

Remus looked up from a pile of first-year essays and smiled ruefully. “Not much good, unfortunately, but I passed my OWLs well enough. Your mother, on the other hand, was one of the best in our year.”

Harry's eyes lit up briefly at the mention of Lily, before clouding again as he turned back to his textbook. “Do you think you'd be able to help me with them at all? I'd normally ask Hermione, but...”

“Yes, she's rather over-filled her diary, hasn't she?” All the professors had been made aware of the 'special circumstances' surrounding Hermione's attendance of far more classes than was practical – or healthy – even if the students hadn't been. Every time he'd seen her recently, she'd looked more exhausted than Remus himself after a full. There was no way a thirteen year old girl should be taking anywhere near that many classes, nor should she be using a restricted magical artefact to do it.

Harry nodded. “I don't know who else to ask.”

“Not your Potions professor?” Remus queried, knowing full well that the enmity between Harry and Regulus had not eased in the slightest, despite Remus' best attempts to remedy the situation.

Harry's nose wrinkled adorably.

“Have you tried speaking to him?” Remus prompted, and Harry's eyes narrowed.

“No.”

Remus sighed. “You really ought to, Harry.”

“He _hates_ me.”

Remus had lost count of the number of times he'd had this same conversation with Harry over the last few months. Harry insisted Regulus hated him; Regulus insisted Harry was lazy and had no talent for potions. They were both wrong, and both _far_ too stubborn to see it.

“Professor Black does not hate you, Harry,” Remus reassured. His cub really could be incredibly insecure at times, no doubt due to his horrendous upbringing, and took even the mildest of Regulus' admittedly cutting comments to heart. Regulus, on the other hand, could not conceive of someone without even a rudimentary knowledge of Potions, so assumed Harry's ineptitude was laziness and attacked with abandon in the hopes of somehow motivating the boy. Remus was sick of being in the middle.

He strode over to his fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo powder. “Black's Office!” he called, and he heard Harry's noise of dismay behind him.

Moments later, Regulus appeared in his fireplace and stepped out, brushing soot from his dark robes. “What can I do for you, Remus?”

Remus motioned to the sofa, “take a seat, Regulus.”

The dark-haired man took one look at Harry and curled his lip. “Private study sessions, Remus? No wonder the boy appears to be passing _your_ class. Needless to say, I won't be offering the same assistance.”

Remus' voice hardened. “Take a seat.”

With an expression of utter disdain, Regulus lowered himself onto the sofa. “What is this about, Remus? I have better things to do than listen to your little brat whine about his Potions marks.”

Remus shot Regulus a warning look. Referring to Harry as 'his' behind closed doors was one thing, but to do it in front of Harry was reckless in the extreme. Thankfully, Harry didn't appear to have noticed the slip, and was instead staring miserably at his Potions textbook.

“Harry,” Remus said, gently, “could you please explain to me the difference between slicing and dicing?”

Harry's head shot up, looking straight at Remus and intently avoiding even a sideways glance at his Potions professor. “Slices are kind of long and thin, and dicing makes squares.”

Remus smiled. “What about the difference between cubed and diced?”

Harry lowered his head. “I don't know.”

Regulus scoffed, and Remus sent him a poisonous glare.

“That's okay, Harry. How would you tell the difference between scurvy grass and sneezewort?” They were both key ingredients in a simple Confusing Concoction, which Harry had struggled to brew earlier in the year, but they looked similar to anyone without any basic Potions knowledge.

Harry's shoulders drooped further. “I don't know.”

Regulus looked triumphant, but for once, Remus was one step ahead of him.

“Regulus, what is the normal process for Muggle-born students entering Hogwarts?”

The Potions Master seemed nonplussed by the apparent change in subject, but answered regardless. “They receive some additional tuition and support from the older students to help them integrate.”

“And for Potions, specifically?” Remus prompted.

“Muggle-born students are taught introductory Potions by a Prefect or NEWT student. Wizarding children,” he added, glancing at Harry, “don't need such basic lessons; their parents or a tutor teaches them long before Hogwarts.”

Remus nodded, as if agreeing with Regulus. Harry, on the other hand, was staring at the Potions Master in shock. Clearly, he'd never known about – or been offered – any of the extra help given to Muggle-born students, despite how he had been raised. Yet another abject failure of Dumbledore's when it came to Harry's basic care.

“Harry, could you please tell me how old you were when you found out you were a wizard?”

Harry's brow furrowed. “Eleven, sir.”

Regulus turned to face the boy so quickly that Remus thought his neck might snap. “What on earth do you mean, Potter?”

Harry's chin came up defiantly. “I've been trying to tell you for years, _sir_ ,” he almost spat, and Remus tried very hard not to smirk. No wonder Regulus thought him defiant and difficult when all the other members of staff thought him a delight. “I'm _not_ spoiled. I'm _not_ lazy. And I am _not_ stupid. I lived in a cupboard until I came to Hogwarts. My Hogwarts uniform was the first time I've ever owned my own clothes. And I never knew I was a Wizard until Hagrid came to fetch me!”

Harry was red-faced and panting after his outburst, his fists clenched by his sides.

Regulus and Remus were silent, twin looks of horror on their faces.

Harry had _lived in a cupboard_? Moony snarled, promising retribution, and Remus couldn't find it in him to disagree.

Slowly, Regulus turned to Harry. “Your name never appeared on the list of Muggle-born students. Clearly, that was a mistake. Come to my office tomorrow night after dinner and I will begin teaching you introductory Potions. I will then give you some work to complete over the summer. Come September, you should be suitably caught up to begin your fourth year.”

The excitement that had crept into Harry's eyes at the offer of Potions tuition had faded at the mention of summer work.

“Harry,” Remus said, “I know summer homework isn't much fun –”

“No,” Harry cut him off quickly, “it's not that! I don't mind homework, honestly, it's just...” Harry mumbled the end of his sentence under his breath, but Remus' hearing caught it anyway. _I'm not allowed to do any freaky magic stuff at the Dursleys._

Remus' jaw tightened. “Don't worry about it now, Harry, we'll figure something out.”

Harry grinned, and Remus smiled weakly back, wishing he had half the optimism of the boy in front of him. There was no way he could let his cub go back to those people for another summer, but he couldn't think of a single thing he could do to stop it. Remus, as a werewolf, would never win custody. A brief word with Percy earlier in the year had confirmed that Arthur and Molly Weasley – old Order members and the parents of Harry's best friend – had petitioned for guardianship more than once and been denied. The only other person Remus would trust with his cub would be Regulus, but there was no way an ex-Death Eater would be allowed to take him. Especially when said ex-Death Eater had, at the very least, a secret marriage and ties to borderline-illegal trades in Potions ingredients.

“Why don't you call it a night?” Remus suggested, lightly. “Get some rest so you're ready for Potions tuition tomorrow.”

Smiling widely, Harry nodded and packed away his things. Before he left, he offered Regulus his hand. The Potions Master regarded it warily, but took it politely after a sharp glance from Remus. “Thank you, sir,” Harry said, sincerely. “And thanks, Professor Remus!”

Remus smiled fondly after the boy as he disappeared out of the door and down the stairs, then moved to take his seat on the sofa.

Regulus quirked and eyebrow. “Professor Remus?”

He shrugged. “I asked him to call me Remus once. He never does, but he calls me Professor Remus sometimes. It's not quite the same, but I'm grateful for even a little bit of the godson I should have had.”

Regulus expression softened, which was an incredibly odd sight on the normally stoic man. “What are you going to do about getting him away from those Muggles?”

“I don't know,” he sighed, dropping his head onto his hands. “But I can't leave him there. No child deserves what he's been through.”

The Potion Master's grey eyes turned hard. “No. They don't. No matter how Sirius turned out, I will always regret that I never once questioned my parents' treatment of him.”

“It would've done no good, Regulus,” Remus admitted, heavily. “He told me once, y'know, that if he thought they were upset with you, he'd do something worse, just to draw their attention. He wouldn't have wanted you to stand up for him.”

Regulus' eyes were surprisingly misty when he looked up. “He used to do that? For me?”

Remus nodded. No matter how often Remus had yelled and screamed and shouted at Sirius for being reckless enough to act out against his parents, Sirius had refused to back down. 'It's him or me,' he'd said, with a broken wand hand and blood dripping from cursed cuts on his back. 'And I will never, _ever_ allow it to be him.'

“I never knew.”

“He didn't want you to,” Remus choked out. “He wanted you to have the childhood he never had.”

Regulus rose abruptly to his feet and walked over to Remus' desk, indifferently tearing a corner off a student's essay and using it to scribble something, which he handed to Remus.

“Don't use this unless it is an _absolute emergency_. Do not apparate. Floo call first.” Then the Potions Master spun on his heel and left the office, leaving Remus alone.

He glanced down at the torn corner of parchment.

_Regulus Prince-Black resides at Black Cottage on the Prince Estate, Malham Moor, Yorkshire._

_(p.318, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

On the sixth of June, it was the third years' Defence exam. Remus, despite always enjoying written assignments as a student, knew they were a poor way of testing a student's practical ability to defend themselves. His measure as their teacher was not in his students' ability to regurgitate facts, but in their ability to think on their feet and cast quick, accurate spells.

With Regulus' help, he'd set up an obstacle course out on one of Hogwarts' many courtyards containing a number of the magical creatures they'd covered during the year.

First, a knee-deep pool of water containing a grindylow, followed by potholes filled with Redcaps. A marsh inhabited by a hinkypunk was the third test, and if they crossed that without being confused or mislead, then they would enter a cupboard containing a boggart. Remus was marking them on their speed _and_ their ability to accurately identify and defend against the creatures, and he was sure that Harry would pass with flying colours. After all, if he could survive a _basilisk_ – Remus shuddered – then a mere hinkypunk should be no problem at all.

He called his students out alphabetically, seeing Hannah Abbott make her way slowly but steadily past each obstacle, completing the course in a respectable eleven minutes.

The first student not to complete the course Vincent Crabbe, who fought his way past the grindylow and Redcaps with brute force, but was easily led astray by the hinkypunk and had to be rescued from the swamp. His friend Gregory Goyle met a similar fate. Two out of four, though completed slowly and without finesse, was a fairly respectable attempt, and Remus marked them both as Acceptable.

Hermione Granger tackled the first three obstacles quickly and efficiently, with neat, powerful spells that made Remus smile. The girl was _not_ “all books and cleverness”, as Harry had once put it. She had the ability to think on her feet; she just needed more faith in herself. This became painfully evident when the poor girl fell sobbing from the cupboard.

“Hermione! What's the matter?” he called, rushing to lock the cupboard door behind the sobbing girl.

“P – Professor McGonagall!” Hermione gasped, pointing a shaky finger towards the cupboard. “Sh – she said I'd failed everything!”

He'd said from the start that she was taking on far too many classes, and here was the proof. Remus comforted the girl with a pat on the back and the assurance that she absolutely had _not_ failed Defence. Once she had gathered herself up and headed into the cloisters to await Harry and Ron, he marked her as Exceeds Expectations, and called in Daphne Greengrass.

Neville Longbottom showed that he truly _was_ his parents' son when he charged in and completed the entire course in eight and a half minutes. When he stumbled out of the cupboard, he grinned at Remus, completely bewildered.

“I just did it,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“You did, Neville. Well done.” Remus was sure that Augusta Longbottom would be very proud when she saw Neville's Outstanding.

Draco Malfoy turned his nose up at getting wet, and wasted three minutes charming his dragon-hide shoes and gabardine wool trousers to be waterproof. Nonetheless, he completed the course in just under ten minutes, and Remus marked him as Exceeding Expectations.

Remus grinned as Harry stepped up to the starting line, smile on his face and wand in hand. “Whenever you're ready, Harry.” Harry completed the course in just six minutes, stepping out of the cupboard with his smile even wider than when he started. Remus couldn't help but smile back.

“Excellent, Harry,” Remus said softly, his chest bursting with pride, “full marks.” He wrote down his second 'Outstanding' of the day and gave his cub a congratulatory pat on the back. “If you're free later, would you like to come to my office for some Butterbeer?”

Harry blushed and looked away awkwardly. “Uh, maybe. I think, uh, it's just that –” Harry stumbled. At first, Remus thought Harry was trying to make up an excuse to avoid him, but then the boy's eyes flickered across Hogwarts' grounds towards Hagrid's hut.

 _Ah._ The execution of Hagrid's hippogriff was today. No doubt Harry and his friends had a plan to sneak down to see their Magical Creatures professor, despite the imminent threat of the dementors and an Azkaban escapee.

“No matter,” he said, smiling, “I'm sure I'll see you on Thursday?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “See you on Thursday, Professor.”

Seven students later and Ron Weasley, Remus' second-to-last student, stepped out into the courtyard. He tackled the grindylow and Redcaps with gusto, but doubted himself when it came to the hinkypunk and ended up waist-deep in the conjured swamp. Remus was slightly disappointed that Ron had barely fared better than Draco Malfoy's cronies, especially knowing he was capable of much more, but he gave him a smile and marked him as Acceptable.

Blaise Zabini, Remus' last student, had a similar reaction to the water as Draco. However, instead of charming his clothes impervious, he simply stripped down to his underwear and tackled the course almost-nude. He carried it off with the kind of unselfconscious confidence teenagers tended to lose by the time they reached fifteen, and Remus amused himself imagining McGonagall's expression should she walk past and witness a third year, knee deep in swamp water, wearing nothing but his boxers.

Clothes or no, Zabini completed the course in nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds, earning himself a very strong Exceeds Expectations, as well as quiet words of advice not to remove his clothes when facing magical creatures _or_ human adversaries.

Harry and his friends attended dinner in the Great Hall with everyone else, but Remus noticed them slip into a side-room instead of leaving with the rest of the students at the end of the meal. A few moments later, the door creaked open, but no one left. Or, at least, no one appeared to.

Harry, it seemed, was using James' old Invisibility cloak.

Determined to keep an eye on them – despite the obvious difficulties associated with watching people who were invisible – Remus headed up to his chambers to open the Map. He settled down in his favourite armchair in the dying sunlight, the Map spread across his coffee table in front of him.

Small dots labelled “Harry Potter”, “Hermione Granger”, and “Ronald Weasley” were huddled together – presumably under the cloak – and making their way towards the edge of the map where the gamekeeper's hut was located. A few moments later, their names disappeared from the map.

Remus poured himself a cup of tea and settled back into his armchair. Regulus would be by in about half an hour to give him his final dose of Wolfsbane, and then he himself would be heading across the grounds on his way to the Shack. Thankfully, all of his exams for the year were over. His final group – the sixth year students – had sat their written exam this afternoon after taking their practical last Friday. That gave him a few free days to recover from the full before classes resumed next week.

He was just about to take his first sip of his tea when he noticed movement near the edge of the map – Dumbledore, Fudge, and Macnair were headed out across the grounds. Unable to do anything more than sit and watch, Remus set aside his tea and studied the blank corner of the map, waiting for anyone to emerge. A few minutes later, he noticed “Harry Potter” appear at the edge of the map. Then three more dots: “Hermione Granger”, “Ronald Weasley”, and – Remus' heart stopped in his chest, his eyes fixed on the flickering dot on the edge of the map, moving erratically as if it were fighting to get away.

The words ' _hopes his elf is well_ ' floated in his mind's eye, and his blood ran cold. It had crossed his mind more than once since that day that Peter might also have been a traitor, but it had never occurred to him that he might still be _alive_.

The dot labelled “Peter Pettigrew” wavered and flickered, but remained firmly part of Harry's group as they moved back towards the castle. What in the name of Nimue were the teenagers doing with him, unless... Remus realised, in a moment of heart-stopping clarity, that Peter must be in his Animagus form. And Ron Weasley had a pet rat.


	9. The Truth Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About halfway through this chapter, we start to diverge (quite sharply) from canon.

_THE END OF CHAPTER EIGHT_

_A few minutes later, he noticed “Harry Potter” appear at the edge of the map where the gamekeeper's hut was located. Then three more dots: “Hermione Granger”, “Ronald Weasley”, and – Remus' heart stopped in his chest, his eyes fixed on the flickering dot on the edge of the map, moving erratically as if it were fighting to get away._

_The dot labelled “Peter Pettigrew” wavered and flickered, but remained firmly part of Harry's group as they moved back towards the castle. What in the name of Nimue were the teenagers doing with him, unless... Remus realised, in a moment of heart-stopping clarity, that Peter must be in his Animagus form. And Ron Weasley had a pet rat._

The words that Sirius had been overheard uttering during his last nights in Azkaban took on a new, horribly clear meaning. _Peter_ was at Hogwarts. He had escaped to kill _Peter_.

But why? Because he had failed all those years ago? Why now, and _how_ had Sirius known that Peter was alive and living at Hogwarts was a rat, when even Remus hadn't known?

Remus was pulling on his robes and shoes, ready to rush downstairs and meet the trio in the Entrance Hall when another dot burst onto the map.

Sirius Black.

He watched uselessly as Sirius' dot shot across the map, emerging from the Forbidden Forest and racing straight towards the three teenagers and Peter. Sirius' dot collided first with Harry, then with Ron, before the three dots labelled “Ronald Weasley”, “Peter Pettigrew” and “Sirius Black” all jumbled together and moved as one towards the Whomping Willow and disappeared off the edge of the map.

Remus grabbed his wand and sprinted out of his rooms, praying to every god, goddess, and dead wizard he could name that the staircases would be on his side. They were; he reached the Entrance Hall in under a minute, then hurried out towards the Whomping Willow, hoping that Dumbledore and the Minister would remain at Hagrid's long enough for him to get to the tree and into the tunnel unnoticed.

They were nowhere to be seen as he set out across the grounds, keeping to the long shadows cast by the setting sun. As he approached the Willow, he could see the signs of a struggle, blood and drag marks marring the grass. Hoping to Godric that he was doing the right thing, he vanished the blood and disillusioned the patches of scuffed and missing grass before avoiding the Willow's flailing branches with an ease borne of years of experience and slipping into the tunnel.

_(p. 340, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

He was barely halfway along when the first sounds from the Shack drifted to his ears, freezing him in his tracks.

“There'll be only one murder here tonight.”

It was Sirius' voice. Hoarse and broken-sounding, almost painful to hear, but unmistakeably the voice of his husband. Hearing him, finally, after all these years hurt far more than Remus had been prepared for. He staggered sideways into the wall as it hit him that this was it. Sirius was here, alive, at the end of this passageway. He was going to see him face to face for the first time in over twelve years. He was going to finally hear the truth about what had happened all those years ago in Godric's Hollow. And by the end of tonight, he would either have Sirius back, or lose him forever. Remus' knees gave way, and he scrabbled futilely against the dirt walls of the tunnel to keep himself upright.

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!”

Harry. Harry was in the Shack with Sirius _and_ Peter.

Remus stumbled to his feet and forced himself to keep moving, to keep walking towards the trap door into the Shack. Even Moony, tamed and contained by the cumulative effect of nine months' worth of Wolfsbane, began to pace anxiously in the back of Remus' mind. As he pushed open the trapdoor and stepped into the Shack, Moony howled, launching himself repeatedly at the steel bars of his cage.

Sirius. Harry. Peter.

His pack were close, so close.

Remus followed the noise and the scent, moving cautiously up the damaged, rotting staircase to the second floor of the Shack. He hadn't been up here since his last year at Hogwarts, when he and Sirius used to collapse into the bed together after the full moons. On their last night at Hogwarts, Sirius had begged Remus to come out here, one last time 'for old times' sake'. He'd wanted to give Remus one good memory of the Shack, but Remus had laughed it off and they'd gone to sleep in Sirius' bed in the dorm, instead.

Now, it seemed, the Shack's gloomy bedroom was going to have even more unpleasant memories for the two of them.

They must have heard him coming, because suddenly he heard Hermione's screams. “WE'RE UP HERE! WE'RE UP HERE – SIRIUS BLACK – _QUICK_!”

Remus stumbled up the rest of the steps and through the broken, wooden door into the bedroom. Ron, clutching his pet rat, was on the bed, Hermione standing beside him with her wand raised and pointing towards... Remus' heart lurched in his chest.

Skeletal, pale, and covered in years' worth of grime and dirt was his husband, laying on the filthy floorboards, a huge, orange cat on his chest.

Standing over them both, holly wand pointed directly at Sirius' heart, was Harry.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

The word was out of his mouth before he even had time to process it, and only his werewolf reflexes allowed him to catch the three wands that came soaring towards him. He moved across the room, guided mostly by instinct and an increasingly anxious Moony, to stand behind his cub.

“Where is he, Sirius?”

Godric, he never wanted those to be the first words he spoke to his husband after twelve and a half years apart. In his dreams, he'd imagined shouts of joy, whispers of love and affection, passionate kisses and promises of forever... not this. Never this.

But a flicker of life in Sirius' blank, grey eyes told Remus he understood. He raised one, painfully thin, tattooed arm and pointed towards the bed.

“But then...” Remus murmured, refusing to take his eyes from Sirius' for even a moment, “...why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless –”

 _He was the one_ , Sirius' voice murmured, directly into his mind, and Remus barely kept himself from collapsing at the intimacy of it. He always had been good at Legilimency, but they'd rarely used it like this.

“He was the one?” Remus echoed, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears. “You switched... without telling me?”

Sirius nodded weakly.

Oh, Godric. Sirius had never been the traitor. All these years... and it had been Peter all along. Not Peter as well as. Just Peter. Only Peter. And he had been free while Sirius had wasted away in Azkaban, surrounded by dementors, away from Harry and Remus and the life he should have had.

“Professor,” Harry interrupted sharply, “what's going on?”

It was proof of the trust Harry had in him that Remus had been able to disarm him so easily, and yet Harry stood beside him waiting patiently for an explanation instead of attacking. Yet another person whose life had been completely, totally altered by Peter Pettigrew.

Remus suddenly felt a little unhinged. “His animagus is a _rat_! How did we not see that coming...” he uttered hysterically, his gaze flickering from Harry to Sirius to the rat squirming madly in Ron's hands.

Sirius chuckled behind him, and Remus could take it no longer. In one stride, he fell to the floor beside his husband and pulled him into his arms. He could feel every rib, every notch on his spine, every weak, rasping breath but he was _here._ He was _alive_ and _free_ and _innocent_. Moony whimpered as Remus rubbed his cheek against Sirius', overlaying his scent, desperately trying to cover up the awful stench of decay and death that lingered from his time in Azkaban. “I'm sorry,” Remus whispered, his voice catching in his throat, “I love you, Sirius.”

Sirius nuzzled him back, welcoming Moony's scent just as he always had and giving his own back in return. “I'm sorry, too, for not telling you. I'm just so glad you're still alive. I didn't even know if – Fuck, Remus – I –” Sirius' voice broke, his breath hitching on a silent sob. “I love you, Remus.”

“I DON'T BELIEVE IT!”

Hermione's shrill scream cut through the silence, and Sirius tensed in his arms. Remus eased back and gently pulled his husband to his feet as he stood. Together, they turned to face the furious witch.

“You – you and him!”

“Hermione, calm down.”

“I didn't tell anyone! I've been covering for you!” she accused, and Remus felt Sirius' hand grasp the back of his robes desperately. Screaming witches had always made Sirius uncomfortable, thanks to his mother, and twelve years surrounded by nothing but his worst memories could only have made the trauma worse.

Harry stood beside his friend glowering murderously at both of them, and Remus scrambled to calm the two teenagers down before the whole situation got irreparably out of hand.

“Listen to me, please –”

“I trusted you!” Harry exploded, and Remus physically recoiled. “And all this time, you've been his friend!”

“You're wrong,” Remus said, keeping his voice from breaking through sheer force of will. “I haven't been Sirius' friend, but I am now. Please, Harry – let me explain.”

“NO!” Hermione screamed, stepping bodily between Harry and Remus, her eyes blazing. “Harry, don't trust him. He's been helping Black into the castle. He wants you dead, too! He's a _werewolf_.”

Her final statement was met with a ringing silence. Hermione's jaw was clenched, her eyes filled with righteous anger. Harry, behind her, was staring at Remus in utter betrayal. Ron looked horrified, his face pale and sickly as he lay back on the filthy bedsheets.

Sirius' warm breath tickled the back of Remus' neck, and his hand, which had been grasping his robes, loosened to rest reassuringly at the base of his spine. That alone allowed Remus to keep his composure. After all these years, Sirius was still the only one who could ground him like this.

“Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione,” he said, calmly. “Only one out of three, I'm afraid. I have not been helping Sirius into the castle, and I certainly don't want Harry dead – ” He forced himself to choke out the last word, Moony roaring angrily in his head at the very _thought_ of hurting his cub. “But I won't deny that I'm a werewolf.”

He chanced a glance at Harry, who stared back warily, before turning to Hermione. “How long have you known?”

“Ages,” she admitted, quietly, “since Professor Black set the essay.”

Remus chuckled, though it really wasn't the least bit amusing. “He'll be delighted. He was hoping one of you would figure it out.”

“Are you saying Professor Black _knew_ you were a werewolf?”

Remus nodded. “All of the staff do. I had to work quite hard to convince him that I was trustworthy –”

“HE WAS RIGHT NOT TO TRUST YOU! YOU'VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THIS TIME!”

Sirius' hand tightened on his robes again, and Remus sighed. He took each of the three wands he was holding and threw them back to their rightful owners. “Look, you're armed. We're not.” He tucked his wand back into its holster. “Will you please listen?”

He turned his gaze to Harry, who was regarding his wand in astonishment. He looked up at Remus, distrust clear on his face. “If you're not helping him, how did you know we were here?”

“The Map,” Remus admitted. “I saw you sneak off after dinner, and I was using the Map to keep an eye on you, to make sure you were safe. When you headed down to Hagrid's, there were three of you. When you left Hagrid's, you were accompanied by someone else –”

“What?” Harry interrupted. “No, we weren't!”

“And then I saw another dot, labelled Sirius Black, moving towards you. I watched as he collided with you, then dragged two of you into the tunnel.”

“One of us!” It was Ron, this time, who interrupted.

“No, Ron,” Remus corrected, quietly. “Two of you. You... and your rat.”

“My rat? What's Scabbers got to do with anything?”

“Everything. Could I see him, please?” Remus held out one, trembling hand towards where Ron lay on the bed. He hesitated, but with a nod from Harry, he slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew his rat.

The rat took one look at Remus and Sirius and began to squeal and writhe, desperate to get away. The large, ginger cat leapt onto the bed, hissing angrily, and Ron snatched the rat back, cradling the frantic rodent to his chest.

“What?” he demanded, louder this time. “What's my rat got to do with it?”

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Sirius got there first.

“That's not a rat. It's an Animagus. By the name of Peter Pettigrew.”

“You're mental!”

“Peter Pettigrew is _dead_ ,” Harry snapped, his wand pointing angrily towards Sirius. “ _He_ killed him! There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die! A whole street full of them!” His wand was still trained on Sirius, his eyes flashing with hate and his face contorted in blind anger.

Remus felt Sirius flinch behind him, and Moony growled lowly at the threat toward his mate. “Everyone thought that,” Remus conceded, “including me. But the Map has said some interesting things this year, things that have forced me to question what I believed to be the truth. When I saw Peter's name on the Map this evening, I knew that, at the very least, Sirius had not been the only one to betray us.”

“I never betrayed you at all,” Sirius croaked, and Remus reached for his hand.

“I know, love,” he murmured, almost soundlessly.

The staircase creaked sharply, and Remus spun to face the door just as it was pushed open from the outside.

Regulus stood in the doorway, wand drawn and grey eyes hard as he took in the scene before him.

His eyes quickly found Remus'. “Was I wrong to trust you, brother?”

Behind him, Sirius gasped, but Remus paid him no mind. He purposely allowed Regulus into his mind. He showed him what he had seen on the Map, and what Sirius had said to him.

Slowly, Regulus nodded. “Where is he?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. Never before had Remus seen his brother-in-law look quite so much like the Death Eater he had once been, the man who could kill with one flick of his wand and feel no remorse.

Remus pointed towards the rat in Ron's hands, and Regulus' eyes flickered with understanding.

“You lot always were too clever for your own good. Mr Wormtail, indeed.”

The rat jerked wildly towards the sound of his own name, then let out a shrill scream when he saw the man standing in front of him.

Regulus regarded Peter dismissively, then turned back to Remus. “Well, this certainly wasn't what I was expecting to find. I've just been to your rooms, Remus. I was bringing your last dose of Wolfsbane, but you weren't there. I saw the map lying on your desk and noticed you heading towards the Shack. I assumed you'd simply forgotten, so I followed you...” He pulled a sealed flask out of his robe pocket and held it out. Remus accepted it gratefully. How could he have been so reckless as to forget his potion? If he had transformed in front of three students –

“Drink it, Remus,” Regulus murmured, as if guessing where his thoughts were headed.

“Remus, don't –” Sirius started from behind him, but Remus unscrewed the lid with shaking hands and drank the potion in one, long swallow.

Harry's gaze was now bouncing between the three of them.

“He's a _Death Eater_!” Sirius exploded, launching himself towards Regulus. Remus moved quickly, wrapping his arms around Sirius' waist to hold him back. “They're both Death Eaters! He's here to help Peter escape!”

“Was,” Regulus said sharply, and the three students gasped. “I _was_ a Death Eater. I defected years ago.”

Sirius struggled hard in Remus' grip, fighting harder than ever to reach Regulus. “If that was true, you'd be dead! Azkaban is full of people like you. And you know what? They were always laughing about how the Aurors got the wrong brother!”

“Professor Black!” Harry whispered, sounding bewildered. “I can't believe – How – _You're Sirius' brother_!”

Remus could sense that the whole evening was spiralling rapidly out of control. Sirius was now focussed totally on his brother, rather than Peter, and with each minute that passed, the look of distrust in Harry's eyes was growing deeper.

“STOP,” he said, sharply, yanking Sirius back towards him. “Padfoot, _stop_.”

Sirius froze, his attention now focussed solely on Remus. He breathed a sigh of relief as he raised one hand up to gently stroke along Sirius' painfully sharp cheekbones. Without taking his eyes off of Sirius, he pointed towards Peter.

“Regulus, could you take the rat, please? Harry has a right to see the proof for himself. I trust you know the spell.”

Regulus snatched the flailing rat from Ron's hands, holding him aloft by his tail, and wielded his pine wand a fair bit more violently than the spell strictly called for. “ _Reveratur forma_!” he hissed, and the rat froze in mid-air before beginning to twist and convulse.

Regulus dropped the creature in disgust and Ron screamed, but before it could hit the floor, the rat's fur seemed to bubble and contort, and what hit the floor instead was the fat, cowering form of a man. His thin, pale hair was unkempt and balding, his skin was grubby, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and small, beady eyes.

Ron whimpered.

Harry and Hermione stared, open-mouthed, at the trembling Animagus.

“I don't understand.”

Sirius turned his attention away from Remus at the sound of Harry's voice, finally seeming to take the boy in properly for the first time. His eyes flickered back to Remus just once before he took a shaky step towards his godson.

“Could I – would you – I'd like to explain,” Sirius croaked out.

Harry eyed him warily. “I know you didn't kill Peter,” he spat. “But you still killed my parents. You were their Secret Keeper and you sold them out to Voldemort!”

Everyone but Remus flinched at the name.

“Harry...” Sirius murmured, reaching out to the boy then thinking better of it. “I as good as killed them. I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment. I was selfish... I was worried they would use Remus or Regulus against me. That if You-Know-Who found out that I was the Secret Keeper, he would hurt one of them. I would never betray your parents, no matter what, but I couldn't let either of them get hurt because of me.”

No wonder Sirius had never admitted to Remus about the swap. He had been ashamed of himself. He felt that he had chosen Remus and Regulus over James; his husband and brother over the only other man he truly considered family.

“I'm to blame,” Sirius continued, his voice breaking. “The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. I set out for your parents' straight away. And when I saw their house... their bodies... I knew what Peter must have done... what I had done.”

Harry paused hesitantly, his eyes flickering to Hermione for reassurance. She seemed wary still, but she nodded. Remus breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“But... people saw you kill Peter. How is he still alive?”

Sirius laughed mirthlessly, and Remus cringed at the sound. “He faked his own death. When I finally caught up to him, confronted him, he yelled for everyone to hear that I was the one who'd killed them. He blew up the whole street, killed those Muggles, cut off a finger, and sped down the sewer with all the other rats.”

“He cut off his own finger?” Harry asked, sounding disgusted, and Sirius nodded.

“Mister Black,” Hermione said, and Remus snorted. He was certain Sirius had not been called that since he left Hogwarts. “How did you escape? Why now? And how did you know where to find Peter?”

Sirius reached inside his ragged robes and pulled out a dog-eared, torn copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , which he smoothed out and handed over. There, on the front page, was the Weasley family. “Fudge came to Azkaban for a visit last year and he threw me his paper when he was finished with it. I'm not sure he even knew who I was, in all honesty. But there, on the very front page, was Peter. Sitting on this boy's shoulder, missing finger and all. I knew him at once, after all those years of seeing him transform. And the caption said that the boy would be going back to Hogwarts, where Harry was...” Sirius drifted off for a moment, then seemed to gather himself. “I think the only reason I never lost my mind was that I knew I was innocent. It wasn't a happy thought, but it kept me sane, reminded me who I am... and when it became too much, I could transform in my cell... become a dog... Dementors can't see, you know... They feel their way towards people through their emotions. When I became a dog, they couldn't feel me quite so well... They would leave me alone. But then I saw Peter in that picture... So, you see, I knew I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive. It gave me strength, a purpose.”

Sirius had retreated into his own world, the words seeming to pour out of him in a great unburdening of everything that he had endured alone in the past year since his escape, but the three teenagers were listening with rapt attention. Regulus also appeared to be listening, but his focus and his wand were still trained on the cowering form of Peter. Remus was feeling his heart break with every word.

“I was thin... thin enough to slip through the bars. I swam as a dog back to the mainland... I journeyed North and slipped into Hogwarts' grounds as a dog. I've been living in the forest ever since... Except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry.”

Harry did not move away this time when Sirius' skeletal hand reached up to rest on his shoulder.

“I believe you.”

“NO!”

The shout came from Pettigrew, who launched himself towards Harry.

“Harry... Harry...” the man whimpered pathetically. “You look just like your father. James, he was a good friend. A good man –”

“HOW DARE YOU TALK TO HARRY ABOUT JAMES!”

Remus moved to hold Sirius back as Peter kept talking.

“James wouldn't have wanted me killed, Harry! He would have shown me mercy!” Peter begged, his filthy hands grasping the bottom of Harry's robes. Harry cringed backwards in disgust.

“WHY WOULD HE?” Sirius roared, struggling against Remus' grip. “YOU KILLED HIM!”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Peter whimpered, “he forced me! He had weapons you can't imagine... What would you have done?”

“DIED! I WOULD HAVE DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY MY FRIENDS, JUST LIKE YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE!”

“Y-you don't unders–”

Remus cast Regulus a pleading look, and the Potions Master flicked his wand lazily towards the snivelling man, silencing him.

“You should have realised,” Remus said, speaking directly to Peter for the first time, “that if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would.”

“No!” Harry and Regulus shouted together, and Remus looked up in surprise.

Regulus was the first to move, stepping forward to put himself between Remus and Peter. “If you kill him now, Remus, the truth dies with him. Alive, Sirius is free. We need his memories to prove what really happened to Lily and James Potter.”

“You plan to extract his memories?” Remus asked, surprised. That was borderline Dark magic, certainly not something condoned in any but the direst of circumstances. As an ex-Death Eater, Regulus could be sent to Azkaban for even attempting it.

“If I have to,” the Potions Master muttered darkly, and Peter flinched. Regulus flicked his wand towards the rat Animagus, binding him with magical ties. “Don't even think about transforming, Pettigrew, or I _will_ kill you. I'm sure you know I'm capable of it.”

He turned to the three students. “Here's what happened tonight,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “The three of you snuck out to visit Hagrid, to console him about the death of his hippogriff –”

“The hippogriff's not dead,” Sirius said, suddenly. “I freed him while they were filling out their paperwork in Hagrid's hut. He's probably somewhere in the Forest.”

The teenagers looked a great deal more warmly towards Sirius at that.

Regulus rolled his eyes, but continued on without comment. “– but when you got there, Hagrid told you the hippogriff had escaped, so you decided to celebrate with him. No doubt he's so deep into his mead he won't remember whether you did or did not come the morning. I came out to give Remus his final dose of Wolfsbane, and noticed you through the window on my return journey. I apprehended you and am now returning you to the castle.”

“We're going to be in so much trouble,” Hermione whispered.

“And we're going to lose so many house points,” Ron added, sounding miserable.

Regulus shrugged.

“What about Pettigrew?” Harry asked, eyes narrowing. “How do we explain him?”

“We don't.” Regulus shot a full Body-Bind at Peter, then ripped a button off his own robes and fashioned it, apparently without any difficulty, into an illegal Portkey. Remus gaped in disbelief, but Sirius didn't seem the slightest bit surprised. Apparently, illegal Portkeys were par for the course in the Black family. “Pettigrew will be going back to my private abode, where my spouse will no doubt take great pleasure in dealing with him.” He transfigured a torn piece of curtain into parchment, withdrew a self-inking quill from his robes, and penned a short note, which he attached to Peter's robes. “In fact, Wormtail, I think it might be someone you know.”

Peter's eyes widened in panic. Regulus grinned, and with a quick ' _Portus_ ', the traitor disappeared in a flash of blue light.

“You two stay here. Sirius, look after Remus, but make sure you're gone before Madame Pomfrey gets here in the morning. Do you remember the old family safe houses?”

Sirius nodded.

“Go to Whitefin Hut and stay there. Remus will meet you there when he can.”

With that, Regulus gathered up the three students and herded them out of the Shack. Harry and Hermione were either side of a limping Ron, and Regulus muttered 'going to have to say you fell' under his breath as he shut the trapdoor with a bang and raised the wards.

Finally alone, Remus turned to his husband – and felt a horribly familiar, freezing-hot pain shoot along his spine.

Sirius rushed towards him, spelling off his clothes to stop them from ripping and helping him down onto the bed.

“I'm here, I'm here, I'm here,” he was whispering, as the pain tore along Remus' limbs, snapping his bones and shredding his muscles. “I've missed one hundred and fifty-five moons, Remus, but I promise, I will never miss another one.”

Remus threw his head back, screaming as pain enveloped his whole body, worse than any Cruciatus he'd ever experienced.

And then his mind went blank.

When he awoke the next morning, he was tucked into the worn, velvet sheets of the Shack's only bed; Sirius' scent surrounded him, and the other half of the bed was still warm from where he had been.

At the bottom of the bed, Remus' clothes had been folded neatly, and the chain holding his wedding ring had been placed on top. Remus reached for it, then smiled when he realised what Sirius had done. Instead of his chain holding the ring inscribed with _enaid_ , it now held the one inscribed _chalon_.

He attached the chain around his neck and held Sirius' ring tightly.

Last night had ben real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their wedding rings are inscribed in Welsh, as a nod to Remus' heritage.  
> Enaid = soul  
> Chalon = heart


	10. The Day After

Remus was still sore and stiff from the agony of transforming, but the werewolf had done nothing to harm himself for the first time in thirteen years.

He stood from the bed and slowly dressed himself, noting with a smile that Sirius had taken the liberty of casting freshening charms on his clothes. With each movement, the scent of leather and dog and Sirius drifted up to his nose, soothing his raw nerves. There were still two and a half weeks of school left, but Remus could not imagine waiting that long to see Sirius again.

All of his exams were marked; his students, without exception, had passed – most with flying colours. There was little left for him to do here, and as much as he had truly loved teaching, he could not see himself returning for another year. Maybe later, when things were more settled, but not now. Not when he and Sirius had already been apart for so long.

Madame Pomfrey emerged from the trapdoor, appearing pleasantly surprised to see Remus upright and dressed.

“Ah, Remus. I'm glad to see you up and about. Dumbledore is wanting to see you in his office, if you're feeling up to it.”

Remus' blood ran cold, but he kept his expression impassive. It would only put the plan – and Madame Pomfrey – at risk if he were to reveal anything now. “I feel fine, Poppy, thank you. I'll go to him directly.”

They returned to the castle at a leisurely pace, walking in companionable silence until he bid her goodbye at the doors to the Great Hall. A glance inside revealed that Regulus, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all conspicuously absent, and his heart rate kicked up another notch. Had something gone wrong?

Hands trembling slightly, Remus followed the winding corridors until he came to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's tower. “Mint Imperials,” he muttered, before he could second-guess himself and decide to flee, and it swung back to reveal the staircase.

Regulus had never mentioned this part of the plan last night, and Remus had no idea what he was walking into. He could hear voices – at least five of them – behind the large, wooden door as he knocked. The door opened slowly.

“Come in, Remus.”

Dumbledore's voice was grim.

In his office sat Regulus and Minerva with four students between them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Remus had been expecting. Draco Malfoy, he had not.

“Sit down, Remus,” the Headmaster urged, motioning to the free chair between Hermione and Draco. “I'm afraid we have much to discuss.”

Remus wanted to catch Regulus' eye, to ask him what on earth was going on, but he was staring resolutely towards the Headmaster, a look of utter disdain on his face. Minerva, on the other hand, looked severely disappointed.

He lowered himself stiffly into the heavily upholstered armchair, becoming horribly aware of just how tense the atmosphere was in the room. Nothing good would come from this conversation, not when he was being reminded so starkly of the meeting following Sirius' potentially deadly 'prank' against Severus Snape nearly two decades ago.

“I'm afraid, Remus,” Dumbledore began, sombrely, “that the proverbial cat is out of the bag.”

Remus' stomach fell to his feet.

“Professor Black caught all four of these students trying to sneak into the Shack last night. A childish adventure that could have gone terribly wrong had Professor McGonagall not been visiting Hagrid, and had Professor Black not needed to deliver your potion directly to you.”

_ Fuck _ . Minerva had inadvertently destroyed the whole plan.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Professor Black caught these three,” he motioned towards the trio, “in the tunnel on his return journey. And Professor McGonagall noticed young Mister Malfoy attempting to bypass the Whomping Willow as she returned from Hagrid's.”

“I saw Potter sneak in and I wanted to know what he was up to!” Malfoy spat. He was either telling the truth, or a very convincing liar.

“I – I had just read so much about werewolves and I thought I could handle one!” Hermione cried, sounding utterly distraught. Minerva reached over to pat her back soothingly, despite her furiously pinched lips and tense posture.

Harry and Ron sat silently, staring miserably at the garishly carpeted floor. He wondered just how many house points they had lost between them.

Remus remained tense in his chair. “I understand,” he said, thickly. “You'll have my resignation within the hour, and I will be gone before lunch.”

Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses pityingly. “I am sorry, Remus.”

He got the uncomfortable feeling that Dumbledore was not that sorry at all, but he nodded to the old man as though accepting his apology. “Thank you, Headmaster. If there's nothing else you require, I think it's best I start packing.”

Dumbledore waved him away, and Remus left; the room was still oppressively silent as he shut the heavy door behind him.

He walked back to his own rooms in a haze. Regulus had successfully orchestrated his immediate leave from Hogwarts... but only at the expense of his secret. Lucius Malfoy was an investor or director for nearly every business in magical Britain and the most influential member of the Wizengamot; if Draco let slip to his father the reason for Remus' resignation, he would never find another job in the magical world.

He'd always known that he would never really be able to get custody of Harry, but with Lucius Malfoy aware of his condition, the tiny glimmer of hope he had been holding onto slipped away completely.

He had packed up all his personal belongings and had moved to his office when he heard a knock on the door. If it wasn't Regulus explaining what the  _ fuck _ he had been thinking...

“Come in.”

A puffy, tear-streaked face peered around the doorway.

“Harry,” Remus murmured and, without thinking, he opened his arms. Harry hesitated for a moment, before crossing the room and throwing himself at Remus, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“I'm sorry,” Harry sobbed. “Professor Black said there was no other way.”

He sighed sadly, running his fingers through Harry's soft, unruly curls. He didn't know what to say or how to console him. He was still reeling at the shock of being discovered and losing his job just twelve hours after everything had seemed so perfect.

Harry tightened his arms around Remus' waist, then dropped them and took a step back. “I'm going back to the Dursleys', aren't I?” he asked quietly, tears still dripping slowly down his face.

“Yes,” Remus admitted, heavily. “You are.”

“I thought so. I had hoped...” Harry took a deep breath and angrily scrubbed his wet cheeks with his sleeve. “I had hoped maybe you or Sirius would want me. Since you were my parents' best friends.”

Remus felt his heart break, and Moony wailed plaintively inside his head.

“Harry – Harry, we  _ do _ want you. Sirius and I would give anything to take you home with us. But we can't. His name still isn't cleared, and I'm an unemployed werewolf. No Ministry in the world would let us have you.” The reality of the words, of saying them aloud, tore at his chest far more viscously than Moony's claws ever had. He was leaving his cub behind in the care of people who thought nothing of his safety or his happiness, and he had no idea when he might be able to see him again. “I'm so sorry, Harry.”

Harry nodded silently, and Remus got the feeling he was simply used to being let down by the people around him. He had never wanted to be another one of those people to Harry. 

“Good bye, Professor.”

The encounter with Harry had left him feeling sick and shaken, but he forced himself to continue packing. His classroom was soon indistinguishable from the day he'd arrived in September. His office, nondescript and empty. His chambers had been stripped of all personal belongings. In just two hours, it was as if he had never been there at all.

He employed a school owl to take his short letter of resignation to the Headmaster then, levitating his trunk behind him, made his way down to the dungeons.

Regulus was not there.

On his desk was a note.

_ Use Rosemerta's Floo. Whitefin Hut. I have adjusted the wards to allow you. -RAPB _

He got the distinct impression that Regulus was avoiding him and, coupled with just how badly their plan had seemed to go wrong, it left him with an uncomfortable feeling churning in his gut. Had he been wrong to trust Regulus? His friendship had seemed genuine enough, but the man had spied on Voldemort himself... or, possibly, fooled Dumbledore and spied on the Order. Either way, he was more than capable of forming a false alliance to achieve his own ends. He had a marriage not even Dumbledore was aware of, likely to someone who had also followed Voldemort. He'd made no secret of his opinions about Sirius. And, surely, as a Death Eater himself, he would have known his brother was not among the ranks?

Sirius' comment last night came back to him with chilling clarity:  _ they were always laughing about how the Aurors got the wrong brother. _

Regulus was now the only person who knew the location of both Peter  _ and  _ Sirius.

As Remus made his way across the grounds towards Hogsmeade, he thought wildly that he'd have to convince Sirius to move, to leave Whitefin Hut and go into hiding elsewhere. They couldn't stay at any Black safehouse; it was too risky. Order safehouses were out: Dumbledore would be alerted the moment they passed the wards. They couldn't go to their Camden flat, because Peter knew where it was. Remus' cottage in Yorkshire was known to just about anyone who might want to find them, given that he'd had to register the address when he registered his lycanthropy with the Ministry.

The only place he could think of was his grandfather's fishing hut in Wales. It was barely more than a two-roomed shack, if it was even still standing, but Remus had never shared it with anyone in the Wizarding world. It would be far from comfortable, but they would be safe there.

Suddenly deciding he was too nervous to face Sirius without a firm plan, Remus apparated to the hut the moment he was outside Hogwarts' wards.

He found himself standing on a desolate, pebble beach, crashing waves breaking on rocks hidden below them, the icy water lapping at his ankles. The hut was gone. Just hours ago, he'd been sure that he'd finally found a way to keep everyone he loved safe.

Now, he was yet again unable to protect any of them.

Harry was at Hogwarts, and would be heading back to the Dursley's in just a few weeks. Remus was unemployed and effectively homeless. And he had entrusted the only evidence that could exonerate Sirius to a man who acted only for his own benefit.

All Remus could do was wait and hope that Sirius' freedom would somehow fit into whatever game Regulus was playing.

With anxiety tearing at his insides and his bones aching with the lingering pain from the full, Remus apparated back to Hogsmeade, landing just outside The Three Broomsticks.

Madame Rosmerta smiled thinly as he entered and waved him into the Floo room without speaking. He heard her cast a silencing spell as the door closed behind him, cutting off the minimal noise of the empty pub. Clearly, Regulus had no plans for anyone else to know where Remus was going, but that did little to reassure him. The flat, glassy look in the landlady's eyes had raised goosebumps all over his skin, and Moony – still half-awake in the back of his mind – had shifted into alertness at the scent of something he'd not come across for over twelve years. Dark Magic. Rosmerta had been Imperiused.

His trunk clasped in a white-knuckle grip, he stepped into the emerald flames.

“Whitefin Hut.”

A wet, black wall of fur slammed into him the moment he emerged from the flames and, despite all the fears and the unknowns and the anxiety that plagued him, he felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders as the dog shifted into the pale, skeletal form of his husband.

Soft, warm lips met his, hard fingers dug into his shoulders, and a sharp, bony body – so familiar and yet not – pressed against him.

Finally, he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this particular fic, but I will likely continue the story into a sequel.


End file.
